


the lights we chase (the nights we steal)

by ChiaCat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Post Season 3, Torture, mild drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3933529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaCat/pseuds/ChiaCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the summer after Allison’s death and Stiles isn’t dealing well. He’s still having nightmares, and trying to avoid everyone he cares about. With Kate being back and more powerful than ever, Stiles isn’t sure how they’re going to find the strength to fight back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to give an immense thank you to techsemester, my fellow anon, whose feedback I couldn't have done without. And to maybeicantbesaved who's been so amazing in my time of need. Hat's off to you both <33 Any mistakes and fuck ups left over are all my own.

Stiles is sitting in the dirt, leaning back against a large oak tree. He’s beginning to think the tree is magical because not one bug has crawled on him since he’s been here. Well, a fly landed on him but everyone knows a fly doesn’t count. The tree is on the outskirts of town where Scott and him use to hang out and drink. It’s been so long Stiles can barely remember the last time they were here.

He'd been there an hour—maybe two, he wasn't sure anymore—when a shadow falls over him. A moment later he hears a questioning, “Stiles?”

Stiles tilts his head up and finds the shadow belongs to one Derek Hale. “Uh, huh.”

“What are you doing? Is Scott here?” Derek looks around like Scott will suddenly just appear out of thin air, and then wrinkles his nose. “Are you _drunk_?”

Stiles lifts a whiskey bottle up from beside his hip and takes a swig. “Scott is not here,” he says slowly, trying the words out. His eyes narrow at the Jim Beam bottle, noticing it was a lot emptier than he'd thought. “And undoubt -undoubte— yeah, no, I'm pretty drunk.”

“Why?” Derek asks, sounding genuinely baffled.

“The question is why not,” Stiles counters with a hiccup that makes him giggle a bit. In a totally manly way. He peers up at Derek and sees almost double of him. It’s a lot of broad shoulders filling his view. “Have you always been so… wide?” Stiles tries to spread his arms, indicating Derek’s width, but almost hits himself in the face with the whiskey bottle. He sees Derek sigh deeply before taking out his phone. It makes Stiles sit up in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Scott.”

Stiles lunges, splashing whiskey all down himself as he tries to grab Derek's leg. “Don't!” His voice sounds loud and panicked even to himself. “Don't call Scott.” Derek side-steps out of his grasp and frowns down at him. Stiles eyes his phone. “Derek, please.”

“Why not?” But he lowers the phone to his side and Stiles breathes easier.

“I— just,” Stiles fumbles for a response, “He has enough to deal with, alright?” Stiles sits back down and uselessly wipes at the front of his shirt. “Look just pretend you never saw me.” He flaps his hand about. “Shoo, scram, vamoose.”

Derek looks torn for a few minutes, a constipated look on his face. “I can't,” he says finally.

Stiles is too drunk to figure out whatever is causing Derek’s constipation. Doesn’t particularly want to either, until he remembers Scott telling him Derek had supposedly turned over a new leaf since he’d lost his alpha powers, caring about this town and people, or some shit. Wanting to become Scott’s _mentor_ of all things. Scott had seemed to believe him, but then again, Scott wants to see the best in everyone.

It just makes Stiles roll his eyes so hard the world turns upside down. He’s extremely grateful he’s already on the ground. “You totally can. In fact, I'm sure you even want to.” Stiles' words are starting to jumble together again now that his spike of adrenaline is fading. He finishes with a wobbly jerk of his arm. “Go away, and this will never be men-mentioned again.”

“I could drag your ass home,” Derek says faux sweetly.

“And I could throw up on you,” Stiles grumbles and takes a drink out of the bottle still in his hand. “My dad's there.” Which Stiles thinks should be obvious, why else would he be out here alone? Mining for gold? Looking for the freaking Shire? “I ain’t mining for hobbits or gold,” he says, before he can filter himself. Then snickers to himself because he’s hilarious.

Derek doesn’t seem to share his opinion. He’s starting to look a bit desperate. “Lydia?”

“Been in Italy for two weeks. Since the start of summer,” Stiles almost hums the words, sounding way too cheerful. His mood quickly plummets, remembering Lydia hadn't been dealing well with Allison's death, and had wanted to get away. Stiles can't blame her at all.

Derek's shoulders sag in resignation and he slowly walks over to sit beside him. Stiles frowns over at him, but it's quiet until Stiles tries to take another drink and Derek snatches the bottle out of his hands.

Derek takes a large drink himself. “So the plan was to get drunk alone in the woods.” He stares at the beginnings of a spectacular sunset. “At night,” he takes another drink, “In Beacon Hills.”

Stiles doesn't tell him there hadn't been a plan, except to get out of his room and out of his head. “It's the cool thing to do.” He shrugs and takes the booze back. “Kids these days.”

Derek jerks the bottle out of his hand before he can take another drink and upends the rest on the ground. Stiles' loud protest seems to fall on deaf ears. “You're an idiot and this was a terrible idea. How do you even plan on getting home?”

Stiles pouts at him, he'd stolen that liquor fair and square. “I'll sober up eventually.”

“Before or after you’re eaten by wild animals?”

Stiles huffs out a breath and leans his head back against the tree. He rubs his fingers against its bark, liking the feel of it. “Don’t really care.”

Derek doesn't say anything to that and they fall into a rather companionable silence. Or at least Stiles is content to close his eyes and float in his drunken haze. His mind not running a mile a minute for once, and it feels like relief. It's almost completely dark when Derek gets up and says, “Come on, you can sleep it off at the loft.”

Stiles makes a face and grunts. “I'd rather be alone in the woods than around Peter.”

Derek grabs his arm and it's either get up or get dragged. “Peter's been MIA since Kate showed up. You're in the clear.”

Stiles stumbles a bit before following him, or at least he makes an effort to put one foot in front of the other. He thinks it's funny no one had seen Kate besides Derek, and that had been three weeks ago. Stiles thought Derek had just hallucinated her, but stranger things have happened. He brightens at a thought. “Hey, maybe they killed each other.”

“That's the spirit,” Derek says, dry as dust. Stiles stumbles over a pebble, or air, or something, and Derek barely catches him before he bites it. They finally get to Derek's car and he all but shoves Stiles into the passenger seat. “If you puke in my car they'll never find the body.”

Stiles clumsily flips him off.

The ride to the loft is a bit of a dizzy blur and Stiles is really feeling every drink he had. Derek helps him out of the elevator, having had to catch him once already before he'd brained himself getting into it. As soon as he walks into the loft he notices a problem though. “You need furniture. Like, would a couch kill you?”

Derek huffs and drops Stiles down onto his bed. “I buy them. People keep breaking them.”

Stiles burrows down into the softness beneath him. It smells nice. “You need less violence in your life.”

Derek's soft breath of laughter is the last thing he hears as sleep comes up and claims him.

\---

Stiles jolts awake, breath coming in gasps. Screams echo in his ear, the last remains of a nightmare, one he's had more often than not lately.

It's dark, and it takes him a minute to figure out he's still in Derek's bed. Which huh.

He manages to get up, and the world tilts a little, letting him know he hadn't been asleep for that long. But his thoughts are a hella lot clearer than they had been.

There’s a bathroom not far off from what he is sure is supposed to be some kind of kitchen. He notices some cabinets, a fridge and a sink at least. The bathroom looks new. Everything is nice and clean, but it’s on the small side. Stiles pisses out what feels like a gallon of whiskey, and washes his hands.

Stiles makes his way out to the main floor and notices someone is out on the balcony. He slips out there and spots Derek by the ledge, elbows resting on it as he gazes up at the night sky. Stiles sidles up beside him and copies his pose. It's a perfect night, clear skies and bright stars, crescent moon shining down on them.

Much to his surprise, Derek breaks the silence first. “Why are you avoiding Scott?”

Stiles glances over at him. “I already told you.”

“The real reason.”

Maybe it's because he's still a bit drunk, or because Derek's soberness is rubbing off on him, but in any case he answers truthfully. “I'm having trouble looking at him right now.” Derek cocks his head a little, a silent request to go on.

Stiles doesn't know why but it compels him to elaborate. After all in for a penny of emotional drunken confessions in for a pound. “I remember everything the Nogitsune did, I do. But lately I've been getting flashes, 3D technicolor flashes. I remember twisting a sword into Scott's gut, I remember mailing a bomb to my dad's work, I remember gaining control of the Oni.” Stiles stops and takes a breath. And then because he hasn't said it out loud yet and he _needs_ to. “I'm the reason Allison is dead.”

It’s quiet for a moment, until finally Derek speaks. “I'm not going to tell you it's not your fault. That kinda guilt, no matter what anybody says to you, that's something you have figure out on your own. Or learn to live with.” He finishes ruefully, “I should know.”

Stiles is hit with a wave of relief, overly grateful his issues hadn't been dismissed or ridiculed. “The thing is I know what the Nogitsune did wasn't me. But it used me. Allison is still dead and if it weren't for me she wouldn't be.”

Derek looks out into the night again. “Scott wouldn't see it that way.”

“Of course he wouldn't, he's a better person than I'll ever be.” He expects it to come out slightly bitter, but it's mostly just fond and that makes Stiles smile. He turns to watch Derek's silhouette. “You think pretty highly of Scott, don't you?”

With a shrug, Derek admits, “He's the wolf I wanted to be when I was little. The wolf my mother hoped I'd become.”

Stiles is surprised at his sincere answer, and shoots him a cynical smile. “Before it all went to shit?”

Derek huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah, before it all went to shit.” There's a lull in the conversation and for once Stiles doesn't feel the need to fill the silence with words.

Abruptly Derek says into the dark, his voice a low baritone. “For what it's worth, I'm glad we didn't' have to kill you.”

Coming from Derek... it means more than he would have otherwise expected. Feeling weirdly vulnerable he tries to lighten the moment with a joke, “I'm glad you're alive too, and not only because I'm not sleeping with some raccoons right now.”

Derek’s face is serious but there's amusement in his eyes. “You would have fit right in. Hell, they would have made you their leader.”

Stiles' laughs rings out, loud and brittle into the night. He feels strangely unsettled, like it would take nothing at all to come up and shatter his composure. “Mind if I crash for a few more hours?”

“Go ahead,” and when Stiles clearly hesitates he adds, “I'll use Peter's bed if I get desperate.”

Stiles heads back inside, but stops the door before it can close behind him. “Thank you.”

Derek doesn't look back. “You're welcome.”

\---

Stiles wakes to sunlight streaming across his face. His brain feels like it's trying to flee his skull in agony, but he groggily manages to sit up. His mouth tastes like utter ass— and under protest of every muscle he has— he eventually reaches the bathroom again. Stiles finds some mouthwash to use, but no effing pain killers before shuffling back out.

Derek is staring at at the percolating coffee pot like it has all the answers to the universe. Stiles can relate. He cocks a hip against the small counter so they can watch the coffee drip together. Derek flicks him a look, then reaches into a drawer to his left, dropping a bottle of aspirin on the counter. Stiles snatches it up as Derek pads over to the refrigerator and hands him a bottle of water. Stiles gratefully takes more than the recommended dosage and drinks like a dying man. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says fervently, “Thanks.”

Derek just rolls his eyes at him before pulling two coffee cups down from the cabinet. They drink their coffee in blissful silence, or at least Stiles does. Derek makes an absurdly good cup of coffee. By his second cup, Stiles is finally awake enough to notice that Derek looks pretty tired himself. Derek sees him looking and drains his cup. “Come on, I'll take you to your jeep.”

Stiles grunts at him but sadly puts his mug on the counter and goes to find his shoes. The car ride is so quiet Stiles has to struggle not to fall asleep again. Derek drops him off right beside his jeep and asks,” You okay to drive?”

Stiles yawns and stretches. “Sure.”

Derek just nods at him and Stiles gets out of the car. By the time he gets into his jeep Derek's long gone.

\---

The sheriff's cruiser is still in the drive when Stiles pulls in, causing him his first pang of nervousness. His suspicions are confirmed when he walks in the door to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table in uniform, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands. Obviously waiting on him.

Stiles walks slowly towards him, like he's walking to his own guillotine. His dad finally speaks, still staring at his coffee mug. “You know, I don't know what I'm more upset about, the fact that you're still lying to me, or the fact that now you're lying to Scott too.”

Stiles winces but his dad isn't done. “Imagine my surprise when Melissa McCall calls me this morning asking how you are. Apparently she hadn't seen you in a few days, and Scott had told her you weren't feeling too well.” The Sheriff calmly takes a measured sip of his coffee. ”You told me you were going to Scott's last night.” Finally his dad looks up at him, his stare all but pins Stiles in place. “So where were you?”

Stiles feels weighed down by guilt and for once has no idea what to say. “Dad, I—” His actions just look stupid and selfish in the light of day. And his reasons? That he'd just wanted to drown out the demons in his head for one second? That he never meant for his dad to find out or that he hadn't wanted to worry him? That _this_ was the exact opposite of what he had wanted? They're nothing but hollow words and completely useless to him right now. “Nowhere,” he finally settles on, waving a hand. “I was just... out.”

“Out,” his dad echoes. And then louder like he can't believe what he just heard, “ _Out_.” His dad gets up and pinches the bridge of his nose, like he's struggling for patience. “Out explains why you smell like the floor of a bar?”

Stiles grimaces at that, his futile hope of keeping that part to himself gone. He sits down on a kitchen chair, rubbing a hand over his face. Before he can think of something to say a look of horror crosses his dad's face. “Tell me you didn't drink and drive. Tell me that much at least.”

“What? No!” Stiles exclaims, appalled. “How could you think that.” Stiles stands back up in agitation.

The Sheriff throws his hands up frustration. “I don't know what to think anymore.”

“I would never do something like that, Jesus,” Stiles tells him shakily, “I think I've gotten enough people killed, don't you?”

His dad seems taken aback. “Stiles—”

And Stiles just can't hear it, his father's sincerity or the absolution of his supposed sins. “Look, all I wanted was some time to myself. That's it. And I just wasn't thinking.” Stiles finishes miserably, at a loss for anything else to say. “I'm sorry.”

“I thought we were over this,” his dad doesn't sound angry anymore, he sounds hurt. “After everything...” The Sheriff drags his hands over his face. “For a second there I had no idea where you were, or if you were coming back.” His dad takes in a ragged breath. “I can't lose you like that again. I can't— I just can't.”

 _“Dad_ ,” Stiles is filled with enough guilt and self-hate that he feels like he's choking on it. “I'm sorry,” he says around the lump in his throat, trying to get everything out. “I'm sorry I'm so screwed up. That this is our life, everything that's happened, it's all my fault. That I can't— all I do is make you worry.” He's fighting his hardest not to cry, but it's useless, and he has to wipe a few tears away. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

“That's my _job_.” His dad reaches out and pulls Stiles close to him, hand around the back of his neck. “No matter what you do it's my job to worry about you every single day,” His dad's voice is rough, and he's searching Stiles' face like he's looking for something. “And you listen to me, there's nothing, _nothing_ in this world that I'm more proud of than you. Every day I wish your mother was alive to see how you've grown.” His dads eyes are red and he looks about as torn up as Stiles feels. “She'd be so proud of you.”

Stiles breaks, a dry and painful sob rips out of him and his dad just wraps him up like it's the easiest thing in the world to do. “I love you so much,” he hears against his ear, and it just makes him cry harder, hiding his tears into his father's shoulder. “And there's nothing you can do that will ever change that.” Stiles has huge sobs tearing through him and it _hurts_ , it feels like there is a huge hole in him, and the sickness is just pouring out. His dad rocks him and is murmuring something Stiles can't make out. But it's his soothing tone that eventually quiets him. “I got ya.”

His dad pulls his head back and peers down at him. Stiles is sure he looks an utter mess, but his dad just thumbs away the remaining tears under his eyes. “You're still grounded.”

It makes Stiles give a watery laugh, like it was probably intended to. Stiles just gives a nod and pulls himself back together, roughly rubbing at his eyes. He hands his dad his keys out of his pocket.

“You gonna be alright?” the Sheriff asks. “I'm late for work but I could stay home?”

His dad’s eyes are red-rimmed and Stiles wants to hug him again. “No, I'll be fine.”

“You sure?” At Stiles' nod the Sheriff turns stern, “Then take a shower and try to get some sleep. That's an order.” He adds softer, “I'll get off early tonight and bring home a pizza, okay?”

“Sounds great,” Stiles rasps. He watches his dad linger by the door. “Go to work.”

His dad sighs and opens the door but before he can leave Stiles rushes out, “I love you too. You know. Like a lot.”

His dad has to stop to collect himself, and then nods without looking at him. “Yeah.” Stiles watches him walk out the door and feels the life drain out of him. He's so fucking tired and his head is killing him. In a numbed out daze he finds his bed and falls into a dreamless sleep.

\---

Stiles wakes to the sound of the doorbell, followed by the doorknob being rattled. Grumbling, he gets out of bed. He's a mess but figures it's probably just Scott, so he stumbles to go answer the door.

Turns out it's not Scott but the other McCall. Melissa raises an eyebrow at his appearance but doesn't say anything otherwise. She bustles in past him, carrying a bag of food from a familiar restaurant with her. It smells delicious. “You brought me soup.”

Melissa's already clearing the clutter off the kitchen table. “No, I bought you soup.” She smiles at him. “Gabe's has the best soup and sandwiches this side of town.” She brings the food out and points to a chair. “Now sit.”

Stiles does as he's told. Melissa hands him a spoon and crackers before sitting down opposite from him. “I got you traditional chicken noodle soup. You know, since you're feeling under the weather.” There's a twinkle in her eye so Stiles ignores her and digs in. He doesn't remember the last time he ate and he's starving. “I get broccoli cheddar, because it's the God among soups. Oh, and there's a couple sandwiches in the bag if you want one. Turkey or ham.”

After Stiles had downed half his soup he looks up to see her watching him. He swallows harder than soup usually requires. “So who sent you, Scott or my dad?”

“Nobody sent me. I'm not a carrier pigeon.” Melissa gets up and rummage in the fridge before coming back with a water bottle and a diet coke. She sets the water in front of him, opening the coke for herself. Stiles gives her the stink eye, that she purposely ignores. “Though they both might have expressed some concern over you.”

“I'm fine,” Stiles says into his soup.

“Sure, you are.” Melissa takes a drink and then looks him over. “You look like hell.”

Stiles grimaces. “I might need a shower.”

“Or three,” she says, a smile taking the sting out of it. Melissa sits back in her chair. “I'm a good listener, you know. It's why I'm such an excellent nurse. Aside from the fact that there's not a bed pan out there that can faze me.”

Stiles frowns and sets his spoon down. “Gross. And I said I was fine.”

She makes a noncommittal noise at him.

Stiles sighs in exasperation. “Okay, I'm not fine, but there's nothing anyone can say that will change that. So for all intents and purposes: _I’m fine_.”

It's Melissa's turn to sigh and she looks like she wants to say something else, but in the end decides to let it go. “Fair enough.”

Stiles pushes his soup away, no longer hungry. Melissa goes about cleaning up the table, putting the bag of untouched sandwiches in the fridge. When the silence gets too much for Stiles to handle he asks, because he can't not, “How's Scott?”

“He's as good as can be expected.” She tells him. “Between his father, Kira and Malia he's got enough people around to keep him busy.” She gives him a look. “Could use a best friend stopping by though.”

“I don't think I'm good for him right now,” Stiles mutters, hoping she might not even hear him.

No such luck. Melissa's face tightens, eyes narrowing at him. “Stiles, I can't even began to understand what you're going through, but listen here,” She makes him meet her eyes before continuing, “You have always and will _always_ be good for my son. Do you understand me?”

Stiles ducks his head, feeling chastened and way too exposed. “Yeah.”

Melissa shakes herself, like she's settling ruffled feathers. “I gotta go to back to work. Take care of yourself, alright?. And take a shower.” She pats him on the shoulder on her way out the door, and Stiles can't shake the feeling he disappointed her somehow. Such is his fucking life. He gets up and takes a shower in the dim hope he might drown.

\---

Stiles has a nice night with his dad, they eat pizza and watch a movie. It's easy and exactly what he needed. It doesn't last though, he's still not sleeping, and taking too much Adderall because of it. He thinks of stealing some more booze just to be able to have some nightmare-free sleep but in the end discards the idea, not wanting to worry his father any more than he already has.

It's barely five days before his father gives him back the keys to his jeep, and it's greatly implied that his dad expects him to get out of the house. To go see Scott and interact with other people. He doesn't.

The next day exhaustion finally takes over and he's able to fall asleep in the afternoon. His dream turns violent unusually fast and suddenly he's running flat out into a darkened forest. He's terrified, breath coming in gasps and a cold sweat breaking out over him. He's running from someone, but he doesn't know who; all he knows is that he has to get away. He's running so fast he doesn't see it till it's too late and then he's falling, down, down, until he lands hard. The breath gets knocked out of him and it takes longer than it should to realize he's lying on hardwood. It's dirty and old and he turns over to see it's a coffin. He looks up in time to see himself grin down at him.

“Tsk, tsk, not fast enough,” the other him says, before slamming the lid shut on the coffin. Stiles yells and frantically hits the lid above him. There's dirt falling down on him through the cracks, his own hysterical laughter ringing in his ears. Stiles freaks, claustrophobia rearing its ugly head, the darkness closing in on him. He claws the wood in front of him, pain searing into him, making him even more frantic. He tries using what little leverage he has to hit the lid, using his whole body but it doesn't budge. There's yelling in his ears and he's scratching, clawing...

Stiles jerks awake so violently he almost falls off the bed, a scream caught in his throat. His arm is hurting, stinging like it's on fire, and when he sits up he sees why; there's long, bloody gashes down his left arm. There's blood and skin under the fingernails of his right hand and he feels sick. Stiles barely makes it to the bathroom before he's throwing up what little food he had eaten earlier. He falls down on his ass beside the toilet, feeling wrecked. He's trembling and his mind is still going non-stop, the only coherent thought he has is that he's glad his dad's at work. Stiles couldn't stand to let him see him like this again.

Stiles starts counting, trying to get his mind off the high manic edge it's on. He's rocking back and forth, focusing on the numbers, “...fifteenth, sixteen, seventeen...” He reaches the two hundreds before he's calmed down enough to collapse back against the tub. He breathes slowly and tries to take stock of the situation.

He should probably take a shower. And brush his teeth. And clean the mess that is his arm. It takes him a moment, but plans set, he gets up and almost robotically does them. A lukewarm shower helps him feel more human. The scratches on his arm are barely bleeding anymore, so he just smears some antibacterial ointment on them and leaves it alone.

He's clean, teeth freshly brushed and wearing a long sleeved t-shirt when he gets back to his room. Stiles is there for all of five minutes before the walls start closing in on him. He has grabbed his keys and is out the door before he can think about it. He drives away from town, not in any state of mind to deal with people. The drive is settling him when he's hit with images, almost too fast to make out, but the kicker is the emotions that go along with them. An endless hunger as he grabs Scott's head, an all-consuming rage as he yells at Argent to shoot him, a hatred so dark it burns as he plunges the Kitsune tail into his own stomach.

Stiles has to pull over, breathing like he's run a mile. He clutches his head like it's going to burst and has to refrain from banging his against the steering wheel. Repeatedly.

Realizing he's not far from the old Hale house, he drives a little further to park into the trees off the road. He gets out and starts walking, fast and uncoordinated. Stiles sees the burned out house and jogs to it. He walks aimlessly around it until he finds a little nature oasis in the middle of the house, and he slides down a decayed wall. Stiles leans his head back and just breathes, looking out into the falling down house. He's so out of his depth it's beyond laughable. No, it's downright humiliating how he can't keep it together for any length of time.

Stiles knows he needs help, needs _something_ before he ends up back at the asylum. But there's not exactly a therapist who deals with post traumatic demonic possession. Would that be considered PTDP? Stiles snorts in amusement. Maybe Deaton? He's seems to know everything, maybe some kind of herb or magic tonic could relieve the worst of the shit in his head. Stiles figures he's grasping at straws but it makes him feel better anyway. It can't hurt to ask.

Stiles gets up to leave, mind made up when he sees her. Adrenaline jolts into his system, but she's just watching him, a faint smile on her face. It's more shocking than if she'd jumped out of the bushes and yelled, “Boo!” And creepier.

Stiles takes a step back and before he knows it he's running, instinct telling him he's very, very vulnerable right now and he should hightail it out of here. He's barely made it past the tree-line when suddenly there's claws stabbing into his back, and he's thrown to the ground. He hits hard, mouth tasting dirt.

“You should know better by now than to run, Stiles,” Kate purrs into his ear. “It just makes us want to chase you down.” She rips her claws down and then out. “And tear you apart.” She laughs at his yell of pain, then kicks him over onto his back. Kate leans down and wrenches him back up by the collar of his shirt. “Long time no see, darlin'.”

Stiles spits dirt at her. “Go to hell.”

She backhands him. “Now, now, don't get testy.” She pushes him back into a tree, causing him to hiss in pain as his back hits it. Kate crowds in close. “What are you doing out here all alone, hmm?”

“Communing with nature,” Stiles says through clenched teeth. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Looking for a big, bad wolf,” she tells him with a smirk. Then treads back a bit. “Tell me, what have you kids been up to while I was gone?”

There something in her tone that belies her words, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There's no way she doesn't know about Allison's death. But he plays dumb anyway. “Oh, nothing new. You know how peaceful it is around here. Shame you missed it. Except not.”

“You've surprised me though.” She comes back to him and shoves her face in his neck. “You still smell so human.”

Stiles still can't see where she's going with this. What game she's playing. “You don't.”

Her canines elongate, showing an impressive pair of incisors. “Want me to change that?”

“You're not an alpha,” Stiles states, but eyes her teeth warily.

She grins, her fangs making it a mockery. “You don't know what I am.” She snaps her teeth right in front of his face. “Or what I'm capable of.”

“Oh, I have a vague idea.”

“It's just strange,” she continues. “I hear Scott's an alpha now. I wonder why he wouldn't want you as one of his betas. Doesn't he trust you with _everything?_ ” She shakes her head at him. “What did you do?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Stiles snaps. Admittedly it's not very witty but it's all he's got.

Kate clicks her tongue at him. “I can help you.” She suddenly stops and sniffs the air, obviously catching a scent. “But I guess it can wait.” She gives him a vicious grin before turning away. “I’ll be sure to _catch_ you later.”

Kate is out of sight in seconds but it takes another couple of minutes for Stiles to relax. He peels himself away from the tree with a grimace. His back is killing him and he walks gingerly back to his jeep. He's debating calling Scott but in the end knows he has to. Of course that's when he realizes he never grabbed his phone when he left. “Shit.”

Stiles starts his jeep up and considers going to Scott's house or going home. He thinks of another option and moments later finds himself banging on the loft's big, sliding metal door before he can think better of it. Derek opens it with his patented scowl and Stiles is already talking, “You want the good news or the bad news?” Stiles walks past him into the room. “Who am I kidding, there's no good news.” Stiles laughs darkly. “There's never any good news.”

Derek shuts the door, and with a raise of an eyebrow watches Stiles pace the floor. “What's going on?”

“I saw Kate,” Stiles tells him. “The good news was supposed to be you didn't hallucinate her. The bad news is you didn't hallucinate her.”

Derek strides towards him. “What happened,” he demands and then stops, brow furrowed. “I smell blood.”

“It's just me.” Stiles turns around, showing Derek his back. “Courtesy of Kate.”

Stiles feels a brush of fingers on his back, right below his neck, then down to almost the middle of his back. “It's still bleeding. You should put something on it.”

“I'll get right on that,” Stiles replies, a bit sarcastically. Even if he's feeling a bit light-headed, it's not like he can reach it, so it will just have to wait.

Derek grabs him by the arm, leading him to the bathroom. “I have a first aid kit.”

It's a bit of an understatement because Derek pulls a huge ass container out from under the sink. Derek sets the kit on the sink, and then lightly pushes Stiles down to sit on the lid of the toilet. “Tell me what happened.”

Stiles gathers his thoughts but is interrupted by Derek trying to lift his shirt off. “What— uh.”

“Just turn around and start talking,” Derek tells him, irritated. And Stiles lost most his self-consciousness being around Scott, the lacrosse team, and just the general fitness of all the guys around him. It was either be insecure for the rest of his life or deal with his inadequacies. So he had dealt with them for the most part, but being shirtless around Derek still gives him a pang. But, he's tired and in copious amounts of pain, so he lets it go, and helps Derek carefully take off his shirt before turning around.

Stiles does catch him staring at the red, angry scratches on his arm. He shrugs. “Dream reenactment, don't recommend it.”

Stiles tells him what happened, omitting exactly where it happened, as Derek cleans the claw marks. It hurts like a son of a bitch but Stiles just grits his teeth the best he can. He talks to distract himself. “So what is she?”

There's a pause. “Some kind of...” Derek pauses again and then finally says. “Cat”

“Cat,” Stiles deadpans. “What like a tiger, lion, leopard?” Stiles suddenly stops and looks over his shoulder. “Derek, is she a _Thundercat_?”

Derek presses a gauze pad particularly hard into his back and Stiles winces. “Anyway she was looking for someone. I don't know who.”

He holds still as Derek starts taping a bandage onto his back. “It's quite a coincidence you ran into her by accident.” He finishes with patching him up, and taps him on the shoulder to get Stiles to turn around. “What were you doing in the woods alone again?”

So Derek had noticed his omissions, of course he had. “Mushroom picking, what's it to you?”

Before Derek can call him on his bullshit, there's a loud thump coming from inside the loft. Derek quickly goes to see what it is, Stiles at his heels. Peter is standing on the balcony, looking all around him before coming in the side door. He sees Derek and Stiles standing together and looks genuinely surprised. “Ah, isn't this all cozy.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Damn, I was hoping you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Peter passes by them, heading for the stairs. “No time to chat. I just need a few things.”

Derek has a deep frown on his face. “Where have you been? I thought you left town?”

Peter spares him a dirty look. “I did.”

“Kate’s after you?”

Peter stops at the bottom of the stairs, and gives Derek a deeply unimpressed look. “No, I decided to take a sabbatical in amish country for funsies.”

“Why didn’t you stay? We could have—”

“What? What could you have possibly done when you’ve thrown away the only advantage we’ve ever had. We’re as good as dead here.”

Peter’s never been respectful of anyone, but the vicious way he’s talking to Derek takes Stiles by surprise, and it raises his hackles. “Wait, you’re blaming _Derek_ for this? When it was you who had to of turned her? This is literally all _your_ fault.”

Peter’s head whips to look at him. “Are you sure you want to play the blame game, Stiles? When it’s you who she—”

A shot rings out, shattering glass, and making everyone duck for cover. Kate walks in through the broken balcony windows, and starts shooting right at Peter.

Peter throws himself out of harm’s way as Derek tackles her to the floor. Kate kicks and throws him off onto the table, which busts under his weight. Stiles hides behind one of the loft’s wood beams, his heart-rate doubling in seconds.

Peter joins the fight, but despite both Derek and Peter ganging up on her, Kate obviously holds the advantage. She's faster and stronger, and they're barely keeping up with her. Stiles keeps out of the way, knowing he's less than useless in this fight. He's wanting to stay out of it completely, when Peter is thrown against a wall and doesn't get up again. Derek is already down, looking dazed and Kate is advancing on him.

Stiles swears, picks up a broken table leg, contemplates hitting her with it, thinks better of it, and just gets close enough to chuck it as hard as he can at her head. Kate dodges it easily, and in the next instance she's in front of him. She reels him in by a hand around his throat. Kate's fully changed and snarling. She acts like she's going to throw him away from her, but at the last second seems to change her mind. Kate pulls his head back by his hair and bites down hard on his shoulder. Stiles cries out, but then she's pulling back and tossing him to the ground.

Kate takes a few steps, glances around before hissing loudly. Stiles notices Peter has vanished just as Kate disappears out the balcony.

“She bit me.” Stiles presses a hand to his bloody shoulder. “The crazy lady bit me.”

Derek is still sprawled in the remains of his table. He has a cut over his eyebrow and his shirt is ripped down the side. He struggles to sit up, picking up a broken piece of wood. He has a mournful look on his face. “I liked this table.”

And that's it, it's the last straw and Stiles busts out laughing, and it's mostly hysterical, but Stiles can't seem to stop. He's laughing so hard he has to brace himself on floor, then his hand slides out from under him, and he almost falls on his face. Derek's looking at him like he's lost his marbles, and it's just too much, his whole body shaking with laughter. “Oh, God, everything hurts.”

His laughter slowly dies off as Derek gets up. “I should go after them.” Stiles just gives him a look, and Derek scratches the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “Or not.”

Stiles tries for a reassuring smile, but it's too much work and it comes out a grimace. “At least we know who she's after now.”

Derek gives him a hand up, looks at his shoulder and sighs. “It could be worse.”

The adrenaline is fading and Stiles is really starting to hurt, the pain from his back and shoulder like fire. Derek's already healing, the cut on his face looking smaller. “I hate you,” Stiles tells him with feeling. “I really, really hate you.

Derek obviously knows what he's referring to because he lifts a hand to his eyebrow, and shrugs, though there’s a slight amused tilt to his lips. When he doesn't say anything Stiles asks, “Can I borrow a shirt?” He feels a drop of blood slide down his arm, and amends, “Another bandage and a shirt? I wanna go home and pretend this day never happened.”

Derek just nods, steering him towards the bathroom while he goes and finds him a shirt. Stiles looks through the first aid kit for any pain relieving drugs and only finds sedatives. Which isn't helpful right now, because he still has to drive home. With a sigh of frustration he starts cleaning the bite wound. He does it fast, hating the pain, and he's struggling to tape a gauze pad on it when Derek walks in. He hands Stiles a shirt and wordlessly takes over, finishing up quickly. Derek lightly touches the bandage on his back. “This looks okay.”

Stiles nods and looks at the shirt in his hands. It's a black, long-sleeved button up shirt and Stiles could cry in relief as he puts it on. “Derek? Kate can't turn anyone, right?”

“No, she's not an alpha.” Derek starts clearing away the first aid kit. “Why would you think that?”

“She's stronger than both you and Peter.” Stiles finishes buttoning and fiddles with a sleeve. “And she's not a werewolf, maybe it's different.”

Derek looks uncomfortable. “Cat weres are rare, and they aren't social creatures. They generally don't have packs.” He shoves the kit under the sink before facing Stiles. “But I do know she's not an alpha, and you need that power to turn anyone. So you have nothing to worry about.”

Derek looks sure but Stiles still has some reservations, mostly because nothing is ever as it seems in this town. He hides them though and nods at Derek. He jerks a thumb at the door. “I'm gonna go before I pass out.”

Derek inclines his head. “Don't forget to talk to Scott.”

“I'll call him,” Stiles tosses over his shoulder on the way out. “And I'll bring your shirt back soon.”

Stiles gets a grumbled response but he’s already making a beeline to the door.

The drive home is short and painful. As soon he gets home, he searches his dad's medicine cabinet for some hydrocodone he knows is in there from his dad's last visit to the dentist. The bottle is mostly full. He pops out two and shoves the rest of the bottle into his pocket.

He takes the pills with a full bottle of water, goes upstairs and changes into comfortable sweats along with a loose long-sleeved sleep shirt. Then remembers to shove the stolen pills into his sock drawer. Grabbing a blanket and pillow, he camps out on the couch watching old sitcoms.

Once the pills starts to kick in he makes himself a cup of the gross ass herbal teas he tries to make his father drink. He psyching himself up to call Scott, not knowing what he's going to tell him. Stiles wings it, hitting call before he can stop himself.

Scott answers on the third ring, “Stiles?

Scott sounds almost tentative, so Stiles makes it a point to sound cheerful. “One and only.”

“Dude, you okay?” Scott continues before Stiles can say anything. “Mom said you were grounded.” He sounds put out when he adds, “She wouldn't tell me why though. What did you do?”

“Oh, you know the usual, lying and disrespecting authority, blah blah blah,” Stiles bullshits badly and wants to bang his head on the coffee table. There was a time when he could lie convincingly, Stiles is sure of it. He hurries to add, “Anyway, I called ‘cause turns out Derek isn't delusional. Kate is back.”

There's a noticeable draw of breath over the phone. “You okay?”

“I'm fine, just a few scratches.” Stiles grimaces, knows he's a horrible, horrible person. He tells another highly edited version of today's events. Scott asks a few questions but mostly listens quietly.

“So Kate is after Peter,” Scott asks when Stiles is finished.

“Yeah, she really wants him dead. Which truthfully, who doesn't?”

Scott makes a thoughtful sound. “Or she wants something from him.”

Stiles hadn't thought of that, nor does he care for it. “I like my theory better.”

“I mean, I'm sure she'd kill him after she gets whatever it is she wants out of him,” Scott tells him, like he's trying to make him feel better.

It brings a small, real smile to his face for the first time today. “Way to think positive.”

“I try,” and Scott sounds serious now.

Stiles has no idea what to do with that. “Yeah, me too.” They're both quiet for a while and Stiles can hear Scott breathing, loud in his ear.

“You sure you're okay?” Scott eventually asks. “I can come over.”

Stiles rushes to reassure him. “No, no, it's okay, I'm just going to go to bed. I'm pretty tired.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'll talk to you later,” Stiles almost fumbles to get out. “Night, Scott.” He hangs up before Scott can reply, and hits himself in the head with his phone. “God dammit.”

Stiles curls up on the couch and it takes a very long time for him to fall asleep, canned laughter from the TV being the last thing he hears.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wakes up the early the next morning not dead and calls the day a success. The TV is off, informing him his dad had gotten home okay last night. Since his dad won't be up for a while he makes his own coffee and toast, downs another pain pill, and starts the shower. He has a brief pain-filled struggle getting his bandages off, but is eventually victorious. He hides them in the bottom of the trash, with a mental note to take it out before his dad gets to it. Stiles finally gets a good look at the scratches on his back and they are pretty nasty looking. The deepest parts are still oozing a bit, and he hopes to God they don't get infected. His shoulder doesn't look much better, and neither do the scratches on his arm. In short, he looks ridiculous and feels even worse.

The warm water does his sore body good, but he runs into a problem trying to put a bandage on his back again. He settles on sticking tape to a large gauze pad and patting it on there. It's not a professional job, but it'll work. 

The rest of the day is blessedly uneventful, but painful. Stiles earns a few suspicious looks from his dad when he winces in pain while making him breakfast. He plays it off as being stiff from lazing around all week, and almost sighs in relief when he gets an eye roll in return. He actually does sigh in relief when his dad leaves for work. His back starts hurting enough for him to take another hydrocodone by evening. 

His dad gets home early enough for them to make dinner together, simple spaghetti and a salad. The Sheriff is obviously very tired but Stiles is mellow (and drugged) enough that they have a good night anyway. Stiles hopes for a good restful night himself but is woken up by nightmares after only a couple of hours sleep. This time it's vague but disturbing dreams of Kate, mostly of her ripping into him over and over again with her claws. He doesn't even try to go back to sleep after he wakes up. 

He's drinking an energy drink and eating a muffin at the kitchen table by the time his dad gets up. He looks up surprised when his dad isn't dressed in his uniform. “You're not going to work?” 

The Sheriff gives it a strange look. “I promised you I wouldn't.” He watches as his dad starts making himself a pot of coffee. 

It takes a moment but then it clicks. “Oh shit, it's the full moon tonight.” After he'd told his dad the truth, Stiles had made him promise him he'd never work on the night of the full moon again. He's not sure how long it'll stick but so far his dad has kept his word. He can't believe he’d forgotten what night the full moon was on. 

His dad is giving him a searching look. “You okay, Stiles?” He grabs a mug out of the cabinet and pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, dad. I'm just tired.”

“You're still having nightmares,” his dad says before taking a sip, careful of the hot liquid. He's obviously trying to seem nonchalant when he's anything but. Stiles knows him way too well for it to work. 

Stiles shrugs. “Only when I sleep.” 

“You want to talk about it?” His dad's voice is perfectly even as sits down across from him. 

“No, but I know where to find you if I do.” 

“Do you?” his dad's voice is gentle, and he's staring at Stiles' half eaten muffin on the table. Stiles slides it over to him before getting up and throwing the rest of his trash away. 

Stiles puts a hand on his dad's shoulder. “I do. Promise.” He leaves, heading up the stairs to his room.

\--- 

Stiles spends the rest of the day exhausted and vaguely panicked. He's still not convinced Kate's bite is harmless but has no idea what to do about it. It all falls apart when he falls asleep later that evening. He dreams he's falling until he's jerked awake in his own bed. It's dark in his room and he sits up, or he tries to and finds out he can't move. He realizes he's still dreaming, and even knowing how useless it is, he struggles to get up. To wake himself up. To do anything but lay there in a state of crazed panic. He sees something move from the corner of his eye and his heart jumps, fear coursing through him no matter how much he knows it's not real. 

Kate materializes from the dark, long hair down around her face and a wild look in her eyes. She jumps on the bed, moves up to straddle his lap in no time. “What do you want to be tonight, Stiles?” Kate crawls her hand up his heaving chest. “Who do you want to kill?” Stiles still can't move a muscle no matter how hard he tries, and she grabs his chin, wrenching it down towards her. “Tell me.” Kate kisses him, bites hard on his lip, and then screams, “Tell me!” 

Stiles shoots up-right and immediately looks down at his hands. Ten fingers gives him a crushing wave of relief. He gets out of bed, and hurries down the stairs. Stiles finds his dad asleep on the couch, an old black and white movie playing on the TV. He watches his dad sleep for a minute, letting his pulse fall back to normal. Then he silently brings a blanket down over him, and turns the TV down low. 

It's still early but Stiles makes sure the doors are locked, turns most the lights out, and quietly pads upstairs. His dark bedroom gives him enough of a pause, and he knows he can't stay here tonight. Stiles is almost sick with worry at even the slightest possibility of Kate's bite doing something to him while his dad is unaware and vulnerable. He gets dressed, finds his shoes, keys, wallet and phone all in record time. He dithers for a second, but knows he can't just leave like this. Stiles grabs a notebook, flips to a blank page, and writes a short message. _Something important came up. Don't worry, nothing dangerous. Call if you need me._ Stiles signs his name and tosses it on his pillow in case his dad wakes up and finds him gone. It's still a shit thing to do, but it helps his conscious a little.

Stiles is out his window and in his jeep before he knows it. He tries not to speed, but can't keep his eyes off the fading sunlight. He's in the elevator to Derek's loft when he realizes he doesn't know if Derek is even home. He's too busy trying to think of alternative places to go when Derek forcefully slides the door open. He's frowning worse than usual but Stiles doesn't take it personally. He'd be a lot more worried if Derek opened a door with a smile.

Derek has his arm across the doorway, blocking the entrance, body language all but screaming go away. Stiles ignores it, ducking under his arm.

“I know you said Kate can't turn anyone.” Stiles starts pacing ten feet in the door, too wired to stand still. “But who knows what the hell could be hiding out in her saliva.” Stiles darts a glance and finds Derek watching him with his arms crossed. “And I can't risk turning into a gremlin or a chupacabra or, or a _furby_ and devouring my poor innocent dad while he sleeps.” Stiles stops and looks straight at Derek. “So you should let me stay here, you know, at least until I'm sure I'm not gonna sprout fur or tentacles or anything.”

Derek just stares at him.

“Please,” Stiles says, trying for honest and sincere, but it comes out just this side of begging.

It does its job because Derek relents perceptually. “On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Whatever issues you're still having with Scott, real or imagined,” Derek tells him. “Fix it. I will not be in the middle of this, and I am not your _relationship counselor.”_

“Duly noted,” Stiles says weakly and then adds, “You've talked to him?”

“Stiles.”

Stiles would let it drop but he remembers what he did and did not tell Scott about their run-in with Kate. “Did you tell him about what happened the other day?

_“Stiles.”_

“Okay, okay, I hear you.” Stiles leans back on his heels and stuffs his hands in his pocket. He can't seem to shake this restlessness energy. He feels a twinge of pain from his back but staunchly ignores it.

Derek leans against one of the lofts wooden beams, and cocks his head with a frown. “What's made you so worked up? I can smell your fear.”

“Who the hell says things like that?” Stiles tries for joke but his nervousness makes it come out more irritated than anything. “You know who says things like that? Serial killers. And then—bam— the next thing you know they're wearing a hat made out of your skin.”

Derek's face is completely blank. “I don't want to wear your skin as a hat.”

“I feel so reassured.” Stiles turns away, way more annoyed than the conversation warrants, and notices that Derek has a new table. It's small and kinda rickety looking. He also notices the windows have been boarded up with plywood. The place looks shabbier and unlived in even more than usual, and Stiles needs some air.

The balcony is empty as ever, with only a few shards of glass shimmering on the ground. Stiles watches the sunset, trying to find some inner peace, but his agitation just ratchets up the lower the sun falls. When there is barely a glint of light left he heads inside.

Derek is doing push-ups on the floor when he walks in and Stiles just stops and stares. Because, damn. Stiles wants to make a sarcastic remark about getting a new hobby, but he really can't deny the results. Derek obviously knows he's there but ignores him as he finishes his reps. There's not a drop of sweat on him when he sits back on his heels, and shoots Stiles a look. Stiles knows the moment the sun sets and the moon rises, because an almost imperceptible shudder runs through Derek and he shuts his eyes. When he opens them again they shine a brilliant blue for a second.

Stiles waits another couple minutes, but when he feels no different he figures he's in the clear. He sits at the rickety table as Derek gets up and grabs himself a bottle of water out of the fridge.

Stiles thinks he should be weightless with relief, and he is relieved, it's there, it's just not the strongest emotion he feels. He's pissed, he's utterly angry that this is life, that it's never ending. What monster will he be afraid to turn into tomorrow? Will it be worse? It's enough to make him almost disappointed that this wasn't it. That it's not over and he still has to fear what's waiting on him around every corner.

Derek is watching him thoughtfully from the kitchen. “Are you more relieved or disappointed?”

“What are you a mood ring?” Stiles snaps at him. “Am I more purple or blue right now?” His mind is a confused wreck as it is, he doesn't need Derek Hale adding to it.

“More red and yellow,” Derek muses. “Angry with a hint of fear.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” Stiles doesn't know when Derek became so perceptive but it's just fanning his anger. “And stop smelling me, you giant weirdo.”

Derek leaves him alone for a minute before asking quietly. “Why are you so angry, Stiles?”

Stiles laughs at that, and it's not a pretty sound. “Why?” Stiles gets up and stalks towards him. “ _Why?_ ” Stiles repeats and pushes him hard in the chest, but of course Derek doesn't budge. “Because this is ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.” Stiles shoves him again. “Because I'm disappointed I didn't turn into some type of _werekitty_. Because I'm tired of waking up screaming, wondering if I killed someone else or if this is all still just a dream.” Stiles pointlessly hits him again for emphasis. “Because I don't know who or what I am anymore.”

Derek grabs his arms and just holds them in place. “You done?”

Stiles sniffs. “Maybe.” And he thinks if he'd tried hitting Derek like that a year ago he'd be yelling on the floor in an intense amount of pain. Maybe personal growth isn't a bunch of bullshit after all. He thinks about the emotional word vomit he just spewed all over Derek with a vague sense of horror. It's not enough to stop him from adding bitterly, “Maybe I should just ask Scott to bite me and be done with it all.”

Derek lets go of his arm but doesn't move away. “He won't. Not like this.”

Stiles doesn't necessarily disagree with him but asks anyway. “And why not?”

“Because you're doing it for the wrong reasons.” Derek eyes are focused on his. “You're doing it out of fear.”

Stiles snorts out an ugly little sound. “I don't think there _is_ a good reason for wanting this.”

Derek’s voice is filled with something Stiles can't quite figure out. “There are better reasons than. To help people, to protect yourself and those you care about.”

Stiles eyes flash. “You think I don't want that?”

Derek leans into him, voice filled with a truth that hurts. “I think you're scared. And want to protect people from _yourself._ ”

“Same difference,” Stiles scoffs defensibly.

“It's really not. _This_ ,” And in a span of seconds, Derek has his claws out and is loosely grabbing the side of Stiles' neck. “This isn't the answer to your problems.”

Stiles isn't afraid of Derek, hasn't been for a long time, but having sharp claws resting next to his jugular makes his already racing heart-beat almost stutter in his chest. “Then tell me what is,” Stiles demands from him.

“I'm the last person you should ask that.”

That's not good enough for Stiles. “No, you seem to know everything else.” He disregards Derek's hand, nails pressing into his neck as Stiles crowds him, getting into his face. “Tell me, Derek, what am I supposed to do?”

Derek retracts his claws but leaves his hand resting where it is. “I've never had a choice in this... but I made a pack out of fear. With the guise of protecting people,” Derek tells him. “Only it was because I was too afraid to face what was coming alone,” Derek’s tone turns gruff. “Look how that turned out.”

Stiles is surprised at Derek's admission, even though he's sure his failure as an alpha was a lot more complicated than that. Still it might have been the start of his downfall. “Personal growth, who'd have thought.”

Stiles suddenly realizes how close they're standing, faces almost touching, Derek's hand still resting against his neck. Derek must realize it too because the already charged atmosphere seems to change as their eyes lock, and Stiles sees Derek's eyes flare with something. Stiles doesn't move back, but then again neither does Derek. Stiles feels a rush of pure _want_ shoot through him.

Stiles' eyes flicker down to his mouth, and never in a million years did Stiles think he'd ever realistically consider kissing Derek Hale. He is now. Then Stiles catches him staring at his neck, where his pulse is all but jumping underneath Derek's thumb. There's enough heat in his eyes that Stiles throws caution and his sanity to the wind. He surges up and kisses him, mouth firm on Derek's. He doesn't have time to second guess because Derek kisses him back, fast and hungry.

It's a clash of lips and tongue, and Stiles eventually needs to breathe but he doesn't ever want to stop. Derek curls a hand around Stiles' neck, deepening the kiss till it's slick and dirty. It's insanely hot and Stiles tries to free his hand that’s trapped against Derek's chest. He's able to slip it up the side of Derek's shirt, and feels hot, smooth skin. Derek pulls back and Stiles makes a protesting sound into his mouth, hands scrabbling to hold on to him.

There's a brief moment where there's only the sound of their rapid breathing, and then Derek lets out an honest to god growl. The next thing he know he's being pinned against the counter as Derek claims his mouth again. Stiles is burning up, dick hard and uncomfortable in his jeans as Derek takes him over. It's frantic and Stiles can't bring himself to care as tries to reach as much skin as possible.

Stiles realizes he's grinding against Derek, almost humping his leg, when Derek moves just right and their cocks line up. It brings a groan to Stiles' lips and Derek swallows it down. Derek feels hard and huge, and Stiles can't resist thrusting his hips, rubbing them roughly together. It's so good he has to break the kiss and pant wetly into Derek's neck. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and just lets the pleasure wash over him.

Derek just lets him move for a moment before pulling Stiles' head back and sliding a thigh between his legs. Derek's eyes are blown, dark gaze piercing into Stiles' own. A moan slips out of him as Derek presses his thigh up against Stiles' dick. He still has one hand on the back of Stiles' head, the other on his hip, encouraging him to move, to ride his leg. Stiles does, thrusting downward as he moves up to pull Derek into a fierce kiss.

It's not long before Stiles is on the edge, clutching at Derek's back under his shirt. Stiles can't keep up the kiss, breaking away to mouth at Derek's jaw, sliding down to suck at his neck. His orgasm hits him hard and sudden. He stiffens and his head jerks back, mouth falling open and a low groan trailing out of it. He blinks his eyes open— white hot pleasure still pulsing through him— to see Derek staring at him, an almost agonized look of hunger on his face. Stiles kisses the look off his face, and moves just enough for Derek's hot cock to rub more directly on his hip.

Derek takes the invitation with a gasp, and jerks against him. He sets an almost slow rhythm, a perfect push and pull movement that even after just coming his brains out, Stiles can't seem to draw a breath. “Come on,” are the first words Stiles chokes out. “ _Come on._ ” He wants to see Derek lose it so bad he can taste it. Derek speeds up and tilts Stiles' head back by his hair, allowing him access to the long line of Stiles' throat. Jolts of lust shoot through him as Derek bites and nips at his skin. Stiles brings a hand down and presses it hard over his jean-covered cock. Derek stills against him, teeth almost sinking into his neck before Derek yanks his head away.

Stiles feels warm spread under his hand and rubs Derek through it. They finally still, both breathing like they've run a marathon, and Derek drops his head to Stiles' shoulder.

Reality eventually starts to creep in back, effectively stopping any semblance of an afterglow. Stiles dreads moving, not having any idea to what Derek's reaction is going to be, and picturing him as the cuddly type seems laughable.

Before Stiles can become too uncomfortable, pressed into the unforgiving surface of the cabinet, Derek steps back from him. Stiles straightens, cringing at the mess in his boxers, noticing that Derek isn't looking much better. Stiles is at a loss, not knowing what to do or say. He tries to follow Derek's lead until he can wrap his head around this, but Derek looks almost dumbfounded, no help whatsoever. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Derek just keeps staring at him, and Stiles can't get any read on him. His eyes burn blue for a moment, before Derek turns his head away from him, shoulders hunched. Stiles is quite frankly emotionally and physically exhausted, and not up to the task of figuring out what the hell could be going through Derek's mind right now.

It reaches peak awkwardness and Stiles can't take it anymore, looks for a way out. “I'm going to go get cleaned up.” When Derek still doesn't say anything, or even look at him, he sighs and heads to the bathroom. He cleans up best he can, scrubbing at his underwear with an intense feeling of absurdity at this being his life. He checks the bandages on his back and shoulder, seeing that they look miraculously untouched. He finally washes his hands, splashes cold water on his face, and has to talk himself into opening the door and going back outside. His pep talk ends up being for naught, because Derek is nowhere to be seen.

“That’s subtle,” Stiles says to the empty room, and then pads his way through the loft to let himself out.

\---

Stiles is able to take his bandages off the next day, his wounds healing surprising well (and isn't it ridiculous he finds that suspicious.) The ones on his forearm are dark scabs, and he has a feeling he’s going to end up with a lot of new scars. He spends most the day pointedly not obsessing over Derek or Kate, or well, basically avoiding his whole life. He's beginning to think it's his new life motto.

He ends up at Deaton's late at night, making his way through the clinic until he finds the man in the back. Deaton is clipping a cute, pudgy beagle's nails, and he looks up when Stiles walks in. “Stiles, what can I do for you?”

Stiles thinks about asking for help. Thinks about asking for a post demonic possession cure. Or maybe for a nice nightmare tonic. But he can't bring himself to do it, can't stand the thought of being that vulnerable right now. Besides, he has more pressing matters. “I need a weapon.”

“What for?” Deaton finishes with the beagle and gently puts it in its cage.

“Vampires,” Stiles says seriously, knowing he's being a douche but really? “What do you think? Werewolves and their assorted kin, cats, lizards, coyotes and who the hell knows what else.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Does Scott know you're here?”

“No.” Stiles raises an eyebrow of his own. “Does he need to?”

Deaton gives him an appraising look. Eventually he asks, “How can I help?”

Stiles' smile isn't pretty. “I have an idea.”

\---

It's a day later and Stiles is about to chew his arm off just for something to do when Lydia calls him. His excited hello is met with a blunt, “Peter is dead. What do you know?”

It takes the wind right out of his sails. “Uh, come again?”

“Peter is dead,” she repeats slowly then adding, “Again.”

Stiles is too used to Lydia's odd connection to dead bodies, and to Peter in general to be confused for long. “Okay?”

He hears her sigh down the line. “Obviously I know more than you.”

“Can you tell me anything else?” When? Where?” Stiles is pretty sure they already know the how, or at least the who.

“I'm halfway around the world, Stiles, all I know is that he's dead.”

“Nothing else?” Stiles wipes a hand over his brow. “Give me a hint here.”

There's a long pause. “Decay,” she tells him, sounding foggy. “And smoke...” She comes back clearer. “Try the old Hale house.”

“Good, okay, I'll call you back when I know anything else.”

“You better. I got a lot of celebrating to do in that bastard's name. Find his body, make sure he's dead, and then burn it till it's nothing but ashes. You hear me?” She hangs up on him.

At least she seems to being doing better.

\---  


Stiles calls Scott and is only a little surprised when he doesn't answer, still he texts him what's happening, and then calls Derek. He doesn't really expect him to pick up either and, lo and behold, he doesn't.

He knows he probably shouldn't go there by himself, but that's never stopped him before. He's pulling into the trees when he gets a text back from Scott, telling Stiles he's on his way there. He thinks about waiting, but curiosity gets the better of him and he jogs to the house.

Stiles skids to a stop when he reaches the clearing and can see the front of the house. “Holy shit.”

Derek is there, about fifteen feet in front of him, but what catches his attention the most is Peter's head on a stake right in front of the house. It's horribly grotesque, his head looks brutally torn off and shoved down onto a long, sharpened stick in the ground, like something out of a medieval movie.

Derek's just standing there staring at his uncle's head, and even though Stiles doesn't care about Peter, he feels a twinge on Derek's behalf. Stiles walks slowly and falls to a stop beside him. Derek doesn't move or acknowledge his presence and Stiles figures he'll just wait for Scott to get here. But then Derek speaks to him. “A long time ago, I told you that Peter was different before the fire. That he wasn't always like this.” Derek lets out a small breath. “I don't know how I didn't see it, or if I was willfully blind to it but—” Derek doesn't finish the sentence.

After a minute Stiles prompts, “But?”

Derek just shakes his head. “My mother tried to warn me but I never listened. From what I saw in her claws he's always been a manipulative son of a bitch.”

Stiles still looks at over at Peter and thinks if anyone deserves that, it'd be him. But glancing at Derek, he thinks maybe Derek doesn't deserve to see it. He doesn't really have anything consoling to say besides, “Well, we all have that one crazy uncle, you know. Last time I visited mine he was singing opera in his underwear. To his guinea pig.”

He's rewarded with Derek looking at him for the first time since he got here. “Yes, that sounds exactly the same.” Even under the dry as dust sarcasm, Stiles hears genuine amusement.

Stiles smiles at him but loses it quickly enough. “You know there's nothing wrong with mourning him for who you thought he was.” Stiles remembers Allison going through the same thing after Kate had died. Or supposedly died. Thinking of Allison makes him emotionally flinch though, and he brings his focus back to the present.

Derek shoves a hand in his pocket. “Is that so?” He nods and then says, “I should go look for the rest of him.”

Stiles follows him and they easily find the rest of Peter in the run down house. Derek looks over to him. “How did you know to be here?”

“Lydia called me.” Which seems to be explanation enough because Derek nods his head. It also reminds him of something Lydia said. “She also thinks we should burn his body. To make sure he stays dead this time.”

Derek gives him a look. “He's lost his head.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, well, you can't be too careful in this town.”

They're interrupted by a yell and he remembers Scott texting him. They meet him at the front door, and Stiles tries to keep a step behind Derek. First thing Scott asks, “What's going on? Is that Peter's head out there?”

When Stiles doesn't say anything Derek throws him a frown but fills Scott in on what they know. Which isn't much at all. Once he's done, he walks away, and Scott gives him a questioning look. “Hey,” is the most brilliant thing Stiles can come up with to say.

“Hey yourself.” Scott kicks him lightly in the shin. “Where you've been?” He doesn't seem angry at least.

Stiles is saved from answering by Derek coming back carrying two red gasoline containers. “There's more under a tarp out back. Take these and start dousing.” He sets the cans down and walks back out the door, ignoring the confused question they yell at his back. Stiles picks up a container and takes it back to Peter's body. Scott follows suit and they wait awkwardly for Derek to come back. When he does, he's carrying Peter's head on the stake, and another gasoline container.

He sets the head next to its body before looking over at them. “Well, what are you waiting for? Burn the rest of this place down.”

Stiles' gaze catches with Derek's, and he realizes that Derek had had this planned. Or at least he’d had it in waiting for some reason. Derek starts splashing gas onto Peter's body and then the rest of the house. Stiles and Scott silently do the same till all the gas is gone. They gather at the front of the house and Derek pulls a lighter out of his pocket. He flicks it on, staring down into the flame, before throwing it into the open door. Flames shoot up and quickly start to devour the remaining structure.

They watch it burn long enough that there's barely anything left standing, and Stiles thinks he hears sirens off in the distance. “We should go.”

Scott nods at him but Derek doesn't move, eyes not leaving the dying flames that was once his childhood home. For the second time and obviously the last. Stiles walks over to him and bumps his shoulder. “Come on.”

Derek has a hollow look to his face, but follows Stiles to where his jeep and Scott's bike are parked. “Where's your car?”

It takes a moment but Derek answers. “I didn't drive here.”

Stiles shares a look with Scott who's loitering by his bike. Derek just looks out of it. “Get in. I'll drive you to the loft.” Scott starts to say something but Stiles talks over him. “I'll call you later, okay?”

Scott looks less than pleased but nods in acquiescence. Stiles nudges Derek to get in the jeep and then gets in himself. Stiles keeps shooting him worried looks but he doesn’t seem to notice. They get to the loft in relative silence and Stiles turns off the jeep. Derek gets out with a muttered, “Thanks.”

Stiles softly bangs his head on the steering wheel and gets out himself, following Derek's footsteps. Derek leaves the door open to the loft, and Stiles closes it behind him. “You okay?”

Derek's standing in the middle of the room, his back to Stiles. “All I can smell is smoke.”

“That's an easy fix.” Stiles approaches him. “Go take a long shower.”

“Right.” Derek shakes his head vigorously like he's trying to clear it. “This shouldn't be affecting me so much,” he mutters. “It's been a long time.”

“I don't think this is something you ever get over,” Stiles tells him. To this day the smell of his mother's perfume still makes him want to cry. “And I promise I won't tell anyone Derek Hale has these pesky little things called emotions.”

The corner of Derek’s lip twitch. “You're so considerate, Stiles.”

“I know.” Stiles watches him walk to the bathroom. Since he hadn't told him to get out he raids the fridge for one of Peter's last bottle of beers. He's just taken a drink when his phone rings. It's Lydia wanting to know about Peter. He fills her in on what happened, having to unfortunately tell her about Kate's confirmed return. It's barely been five minutes when he hangs up, Lydia having to run off.

Stiles notices it's weirdly quiet and wonders to the bathroom door, it's not closed all the way so he pushes it open. Derek is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, head in his hands. Stiles sarcastic remark about forgetting how to take a shower dies on his tongue. He quietly slips past him and starts the shower, making sure it's hot enough. He turns to Derek, who's watching him. There's a bleak look on his face, and Stiles reaches down to tug on the bottom of Derek's t-shirt.

Derek looks at him for a moment, but then lifts his arms, helping Stiles get his shirt off. Stiles drops the shirt on the counter and eyes the black tank Derek's still wearing. He's about to help him out of that too when Derek's voice stops him. “I'm going to hell.”

He sounds like he's talking more to himself than to Stiles, but he wants to know what's going on in Derek's head. “Any specific reason?”

Derek kisses him in answer and Stiles sinks into it, meeting Derek's desperation with his own. The kiss is almost needy, mouth wet and open, trying to get as close as humanly possible. It's only the need to breathe that makes Stiles pull back. He stares into green eyes. “Wanting this doesn't make you a bad person.” He's pretty sure of that, or else he's damned to hell too.

Derek’s voice is gruff. “Doesn't make me a good person either.”

“Well, that was never up for debate.” A smile plays across his mouth, softening his words.

Derek gives a weak laugh, and then kisses him again. It's soft, almost chaste even. They trade open mouth kisses for a few long moments before Derek's breath stutters out, and he drops his forehead to rest against Stiles' own.

Stiles becomes aware it's gotten steamy in the small bathroom from the hot shower running. He straightens, back protesting from hunching over for so long. He also notices how small the bathroom really is and that it's probably not a good idea to be doing this in here. He coughs awkwardly. “You got this?”

“I think I can manage.” He's got a trace of a smile and Stiles is surprised at how much he likes it.

“I'll just wait outside then,” Stiles lets himself out, finds the beer he left in the kitchen and takes a large drink. He feels unsettled and he quickly downs the bottle. To distract himself, and to pass the time, he snoops by Derek's bed, finding a small bookshelf in the corner. It's filled with a wide range of history books and political dramas. It piques Stiles interest, a little look into Derek's personality he'd otherwise have no clue about. Something so normal it's become a strange thing to find here.

He picks one up at random, a book about Elizabeth I, and sits down at the end of Derek's bed. He's ideally flipping through it when Derek comes out, wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist. Stiles watches a drop of water slide down Derek's collarbone, and his mouth goes dry. The book slides right out of his fingertips to thump down onto the floor. Derek strides straight to him, an intent look on his face, and he catches Stiles' mouth in a rough kiss. Derek's tongue strokes hot and insistent against his own and it's like being taken over by a fiery storm.

Stiles is almost overwhelmed with Derek's damp skin pressing into him, and his demanding mouth. Stiles has no idea what's gotten into him but he's not even thinking of questioning it. He's barely able to trail fingers over Derek's ridiculously cut abs when he's pulling away again. Derek tries to lift Stiles' shirt off, gets it tangled around his armpits and Stiles has to help him wrestle the shirt off. Derek pushes him and Stiles takes the hint to scramble back so Derek can get on the bed. Stiles watches the towel religiously but it stays put because the world hates him. Derek thumbs his buttons open and unzips his jeans. Stiles takes a deep breath but is still unprepared for when Derek slips a hand inside his boxers.

Derek squeezes him and Stiles chokes at just the feel of Derek's hand on his dick. He's so not gonna last, probably embarrassingly so. Derek starts pulling his jeans and underwear down, and Stiles lifts his hips a bit. Both articles of clothing end up bunched at his shoes and Stiles has to kick them off, and then he's completely naked. He's suddenly really grateful for the darkness of the loft, sundown leaving them with only the light coming from the open bathroom. Derek obviously doesn't have a problem seeing him, vivid eyes flicking up and down his body. It makes a hot flush come over Stiles, and then Derek licks his hand. He gives Stiles a few long strokes before twisting over the head, beads of precome helping slick the way. Stiles shudders and clutches Derek's bicep. “Ah, shit.”

Derek kisses him quickly before gently pressing him down onto his back, sliding in between his legs. Derek hovers over him, arms bracketing his head and kisses him, hot and hard. Stiles can't keep still, hands roaming down Derek's chest, and stopping on a hard nipple. Derek moans, dragging his lips away. He trails his mouth down Stiles neck and chest, sucking and biting along the way. Stiles needs more, he’s so hard it almost hurts, hips trying to hump up into Derek still towel-clad dick. Derek keeps his hips away though, mouthing down further, and Stiles clues in on where this is going and he turns hot all over, blood feeling like it's going to boil out of his veins. “Fuck, oh god,” he mostly moans, voice shot to hell.

Derek laps at his navel and Stiles can't look, so turned on he thinks he'll blow at just the image of Derek's mouth near his dick. But after a minute of Derek not moving he chances a glance down. Derek is looking up at him, mouth oh so tantalizing close to his cock that it takes a minute for Stiles to realizes there's a question in his eyes. Stiles is shocked it's even a question. He chokes out, “Please.”

Derek takes him at his word, licking around the head, and the leaking slit of his cock. He sucks him almost all the way down, cheek hollowing. Stiles almost comes from just the obscene sight of Derek lips stretched around his dick. He tries his hardest to keep still but his hips buck up, but Derek just takes it before sliding back up, mouth coming off with an audible pop. Derek moves an arm to hold down his hips. “Be still.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles breathes out before Derek dives back down and Stiles can already feel his orgasm building up, the tight wet heat of Derek's mouth better than anything he's ever felt. Derek speeds up a bit, head bobbing up and down, spit sliding down his chin as he sucks. Seeing the wet sheen of his dick sliding into Derek's mouth undoes him and he barely gets out a warning, hand coming down to Derek's hair, “Derek, _Derek_.” He comes, stiffening and shaking as his orgasm overtakes him.

Derek pulls off before he's finished, last couple spurts of come hitting his mouth and cheek. Stiles groans down at him, grip tightening in his hair before letting his head fall back down against the mattress, completely spent. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Derek moves up over him, licking his lips and Stiles feels his dick give a weak twitch. Stiles leans up and kisses him, tasting himself on Derek's tongue. He shudders at the saltiness and pulls back just to breathe against Derek, feeling the wetness smearing between them. He eventually gets it together enough to realize Derek is still wearing the freaking towel, front tenting obscenely. “How the hell is that thing still on. Did you glue it?”

Derek kinda laugh-groans into his neck, and Stiles can't take it anymore, manhandling and maneuvering Derek until their places are reversed before and peeling the towel away with a yank. Derek is big and leaking, and Stiles takes him in hand, just feeling the velvety smooth skin before jerking him slowly. Derek watches him with heavy-lidded eyes and Stiles squeezes him, just to see the shiver run through his body. Stiles gives in to the urge, and leans down to suck Derek's nipple into his mouth. He's rewarded with a deep groan from Derek, and he flicks it with his tongue while he stroking Derek's cock quicker. Derek's tense as a wire and Stiles knows he close, pulling out all the stops he likes, twisting at the head, jerking him hard and fast. Derek comes on a bitten off moan, come streaking Stiles hand and lower stomach. Stiles can't look away, Derek is gorgeous, straining off the bed, dick pulsing in his hand.

Stiles drops down beside him once Derek goes limp. He's breathing almost as hard as Derek, and he wipes his hand into the cooling come on his stomach, weirdly reveling in its existence, at what he did. Derek turns into him and they just breathe together for a long time. Stiles thinks he could probably fall asleep given half a chance when Derek moves to pull the towel out from under them. He silently cleans them both up, and Stiles waits to feel self-conscious but just... doesn't.

Doubts creep in though when Derek keeps quiet and a glimpse of his face tells him all he needs to know. Derek's face is a troubled mask, mouth drawing down with whatever thoughts that plague him. It still takes him a while to voice them. “I can't—”He drags a hand down his face and tries again. “We shouldn't do this again.”

Stiles was expecting it but it's still a kick to the gut. He at least wants Derek to give him a good reason why. “Why not?”

Derek turns away from him and lets out a breath of frustration. “Why not?” His voice is gruff. “I don't know let's count the ways. Starting with the fact that you're sixteen!”

Stiles is confused at Derek's vehemence, he’d have never guessed Derek’s issue would have been his age. If he’d had to guess at all he would have assumed it was something to do with him being a guy or, well, because he’s _Stiles_.

“I can't believe I let...” Derek trails off and Stiles is shocked when Derek shoots him a guilty look, and he figures out what's going on.

Stiles shoots him an incredulous look. “Dude, you do realize what I just helped you do, right? Brutally murdered uncle, covered with acts of arson? Neither of us are exactly normal.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? That I’m taking advantage of an emotionally traumatized teenager?”

“It’s never stopped you before,” and Stiles knows it’s a low blow as soon as he says it, even before the flinch Derek tries to hide. He vigorously rubs a hand over his eyes. “Shit, that’s not what I meant.”

He backtracks. “Okay, first of all, I'm seventeen. Thanks for paying attention. Even Lydia got me a birthday present.” Stiles watches Derek face, at the tight look around his eyes, and says fervently, “And second, if anyone took advantage of anyone, it was _me_ taking advantage of _you!_ ” He flaps a hand around, trying to find words. “What with your furry full moon issues and emotional vulnerability!”

Derek is quiet for a long minute, finally throwing him a look. “Furry full moon issues?”

“Of course that is what you'd fixate on.” Stiles blows out a breath and becomes acutely aware they're both still naked. He searches around until he finds his jeans and slips them on, leaving them unzipped. Derek gets up too, and pulls on a pair of sweats that he finds in a pile of clothes on the floor.

“You’re kinda screwed up, Stiles.” Derek doesn't say it meanly, just an uttered fact. Like it's a point to his argument.

Stiles' laugh is ill-humored. “You would know. Hell, we're both fucking certifiable.” He shakes his head in disbelief, “I know a house, we could share a room.”

Derek is breathing deeply, and Stiles sees a pained look flash across his face. “Look I'm not an idiot. I know this is all it can be. And that it’s a horrifically bad idea but I,” Stiles stops and catches Derek's eye. “I just don't fucking care.”

Derek doesn't look away but his silence is deafening. Stiles sighs. “Can I use your shower? I need to get home soon.”

He's already gathering his clothing before Derek answers him. “Sure.”

Stiles takes the fastest yet thoroughest shower ever, hot water erasing the last remains of Derek on him. He can't go home smelling of sex, but he still weirdly hates washing it all away. Like it never happened. He shrugs on his old clothes and takes a minute to collect himself.

Derek has put on a shirt and is sitting on the end of his bed when Stiles walks back out. Stiles should just leave and get on with trying to forget this night, but he finds himself walking over and sitting on the floor, shoulder not quite touching Derek's knee. “You really need some fucking furniture.”

Much to Stiles’ surprise this makes laughter rumble out of Derek. “So I've been told.”

They stay like that for a while and Stiles knows he needs to leave but can't make himself move. He feels a tentative hand on his hair and he feels himself relax into it, tilting his head to rest against Derek's thigh. Derek cards his fingers through his wet hair, and Stiles soaks it up for as long as he can. “I really do need to go.”

Stiles sighs loudly and gets up, only to have Derek grab his arm and pull in him for a soft kiss. Stiles pulls back enough to see his face. “You're giving me whiplash here.”

“I know,” Derek says, and to his credit he does sound apologetic. “I'm not trying to.”

Stiles gently bumps their heads together. “Try harder.”

Stiles disentangles himself and leaves as quickly as he can.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles gets home ten minutes before his dad does, and he's making a sandwich when he walks in. “Want one?”

“Sure,” His dad grabs a beer out of the fridge and takes a long drink.

Stiles puts their sandwiches on plates when he's done and carries them to the table. They eat silently for a moment, and Stiles is trying to think of a way to bring up what happened today when his dad beats him to it. “You know anything about a fire at the old Hale house?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah, about that...”

The Sheriff raises his eyebrows.

Stiles fiddles with his plate before deciding to get it over with. “We found Peter's body. He's dead.”

“Peter Hale?” His dad looks over at him, face drawn up in confusion. “What does that have to do with the fire? And who is we?”

Stiles takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly in order to give himself time to think, but there's really no easy way to explain what happened. He starts at the beginning; explaining Lydia calling him, them finding Peter's body, and burning it along with the house.

“So,” his dad points his beer bottle at him. “You started the fire?”

“Technically,” Stiles gets up and grabs himself a bag of Doritos out of the cabinet, then takes a banana off the counter. “I think Derek’s been planning something like this for a while though. Peter's death just gave him the push.”

Stiles places the banana by his dad's plate and ignores his glare. He sits back down as his dad asks, “Do you know what happened to Peter?”

Stiles rubs his forehead, he'd been afraid of this question. “We think Kate Argent killed him.”

His dad's face clouds in confusion. “Isn't she dead? Didn't you tell me Peter killed her?”

Stiles finishes his sandwich and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Scott and I figured Peter must have accidentally turned her instead of killing her.”

“That can happen?”

“Apparently, I think it's rare though.” Stiles grabs the Doritos bag and shoves some into his mouth.

Stiles noisily crunches his chips, and his dad frowns at him before getting up and grabbing another beer out of the fridge. “So let me get this straight. Peter killed Kate, but not really. Derek killed Peter, but not really. Now Kate _really_ killed Peter, and you burned his body to keep it that way?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles stares longingly at the beer in his dad's hands. “It hurts my head too.”

His dad knocks the beer lid off on the corner of the counter and takes a drink. “How did she kill him?”

Stiles grimaces, he'd really been hoping his dad wouldn’t outright ask that. “We found his staked head out in front of the house.”

His dad eyes him, walks around the table and takes the bag of chips out of his hands, replacing it with the beer bottle before he can protest. “Even trade, I think.”

Stiles takes it gleefully, and does not at all feel bad that his dad doesn't know he’d already had one today. Alright, maybe a tiny bit. His dad sits back down and finishes eating, putting both of their plates in the sink when he's done. “How much of a threat is Kate?”

“She'd give Cujo a run for his money,” Stiles tells him.

His dad sighs. “Be careful then. Don't go wandering off by yourself.” His dad gives him a stern look, and Stiles tries to appear young and innocent.

It obvious doesn't work because his dad just shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. Stiles hides his own smile behind his beer bottle and for once isn't too worried.

\---

Stiles gets back from bringing his dad lunch the next day to find Scott sitting on his porch. He sighs loudly and sits in jeep for a moment. He wants to get this conversation over with while simultaneously wanting to avoid it for as long as possible. Looks like his time has run out, because Scott looks pretty unhappy. Stiles gets out and walks up to the porch, wordlessly unlocking and opening the door wide enough to let Scott go in first.

Scott turns to him as soon as the door is shut. “You didn't call.”

Stiles puts his head down and slides past him, setting his keys on the coffee table. “I was going to.”

It's apparently too much for Scott. “What the hell, Stiles?” He throws his arms out in frustration. “I've barely seen or talked to you in weeks.” Stiles can’t seem to face him, walking away to the kitchen. Scott follows right behind him. “Mom said something about you being a butterfly and to let you come to me, or some other cryptic bullshit. But I thought that's stupid, Stiles isn't a butterfly. So what's going on? Why have you been avoiding me?”

He sounds so serious it makes Stiles want to laugh because _really_? “Did you just say your mom compared me to a butterfly?” Apparently he has Scott's mom to thank for Scott not storming his house a lot sooner. He should probably do something nice for her the next time he sees her.

“Stiles.” Scott's impatience comes in loud and clear.

Stiles sobers immediately and grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge for something to do, not because he particularly wants it. He tries for an explanation that is the least emotionally painful for everyone involved. “It's nothing, Scott, I just wanted some space to sort some stuff out.”

“ _Space?_ ” Scott's voice comes out higher pitched than usual and Stiles mentally cringes. “When have you ever needed space from me? Just tell me,” he pauses and then adds more hesitantly, “If it's something I did, just—”

“No, God no,” Stiles can't let him think that, no matter what. “You did nothing wrong. I just didn't want you to have to deal with my shit.” Stiles nervously peels at the plastic on the water bottle before setting it down on the counter unopened. “You've dealt with more than enough of it.”

But that seems to just make Scott angrier. “That's not how this works,” Scott gestures between them. “You don't get to decide what I can't deal with. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Allison,” Stiles grits out and Scott flinches hard at her name, already proving his point. “I don't think it's fair for you to have to deal with my overwhelming, horrendous guilt at her death, do you?”

Scott gets a pinched look. “That was the Nogitsune, you're not responsible for—”

Stiles cuts him off. “I know the Nogistune's actions are not my fault. It's my fault for being weak enough to let it use me. I stopped fighting.” He falters and breathes in shakily before looking up. “I failed everyone. I failed _you_.”

“That's ridiculous. You were _possessed_.” Scott starts to step towards him but stops at Stiles' next words.

“Scott, sometimes when I look at you...” Stiles clears his throat and fights to keep his voice even. “I remember everything I did, everyone I hurt, everything I _felt_ while I did it. And there's _nothing_ I can do to fix it. ”

“That wasn't _you_. I saw how hard you fought, I saw what it did to you.” Scott's voice is raw, clearly upset as he throws out a hand. “It's not your fault. No one blames you for what happened.”

“Whatever blame I deserve or not. Tell me,” Stiles knows he shouldn't ask this. That it's beyond unfair, cruel even, but Stiles can't not know. “If you could do it all over again, knowing how it ends, would you still have tried to save me?”

An agonized look crosses Scott's face, and he obviously struggles to get it under control. “Sure, if I could go back, there are things I'd do differently.” He stops and catches Stiles' eyes with his own. “But the one thing I don't regret, not for one second, is saving you. I'd do it again and again and again.”

“Damn it, Scott,” Stiles turns his back, catching the edge of the sink in a white-knuckled grip, having to fight the urge to cry with everything he has. “Even knowing the cost?”

“Even knowing the cost,” Scott echoes softly.

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment, and intones numbly into the sink, “Well, that’s one of us.”

“God, Stiles, don't say that,” Scott's voice trembles at his back. “How could you think I wouldn’t be glad I saved my best friend?”

“I'm a mess,” Stiles tells him, and feels a hand on his shoulder. It takes him a minute before he's able to turn around again. “And it was _Allison_. I know how much you loved her, and I— I cared for her a lot. She was my friend too.” Stiles drags a hand over his eyes, and realizes that's the most he's talked about her since she died.

Scott looks like he's about to cry too, and Stiles knows if Scott loses it he's a goner himself. “I did love her. I loved her _so much._ ” A small wistful smile wavers across his face. “I thought she was it, you know? Even if it took years, even if there were other people.” A few tears finally fall, and Scott hurriedly wipes them away, “I thought she was my forever, and I can’t get past that. I don’t know _how._ ”

It hits Stiles that while he’d avoided burdening Scott with his own issues, he also hadn’t been there for Scott, and he feels awash with guilt. He’d assumed Scott wouldn’t need him, that he’d be better off without Stiles there as a constant reminder of what had happened. But looking at Scott’s tear-streaked face he realizes just how wrong he was.

Stiles sniffs, trying to keep his own tears away. “I thought you and Kira?”

Scott lets out an ill-humored chuckle. “That just makes everything worse. I do like her. But it just makes me feel even more guilty. Like I’m forgetting—” Scott sucks in a ragged breath. “Stiles, why couldn’t I save her? Why couldn’t I save you both?”

Stiles shakes his head, tears blurring his vision. “I don’t know.”

“ _Why_? I’m supposed to be this all powerful alpha, right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me, but I can’t even protect the people I care about. Everyone I know ends up hurt or worse and I can’t—” Scott stops, breathing deeply. It takes a minute but he finally says, “I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay.”

Stiles feels all of Scott’s anger and pain deep in his bones, knows it intimately. “Me too.” Stiles feels tears slide down his face, and Scott grabs him into a tight bear hug. Stiles clings to him just as hard, his face scrunching in pain. “I’m sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry.”

Scott just holds him tighter and they stay like that, swaying slightly until Scott finally pulls back. “You and me, right?” Scott says thickly. “No more _space_.”

“Right,” Stiles finally pulls away and straightens up. He gives himself another minute, and then makes to lighten the mood. “Now we have to do something manly, like go spit or something.”

Scott huffs out a watery laugh. “Only if you're not secure in your masculinity like me.” He fake polishes his nails on his chest.

Stiles pushes him. “What masculinity?”

Scott snorts and shoves him back. “You're hilarious.”

After a minute Stiles asks, “You want to stick around, play some video games? Order a pizza later?”

Scott’s smile lightens his whole face. “I got nowhere else to be.”

“Scott, you know I,” Stiles starts and has to stop. He tries to find the words, to make sure Scott understands he never meant to hurt him. “I'm didn't mean—” He finally blurts out, “ _I'm sorry._ ”

“I know,” Scott pulls him into a one-armed hug and pats him on the back. “But you owe me one. Like thinking of a way to get me out of bowling with my dad this weekend.”

“I can do that,” Stiles' reply comes out a bit muffled.

Scott moves back and asks, “Do we need to go spit now?”

Stiles pushes him away. “Shut up.” He smiles and follows Scott's laughter up the stairs.

It’s a testament to how long they’ve been friends that it’s never awkward or unsure. They play some Call of Duty and then some Super Smash Brothers, regular trash talking all a go. Stiles asks while his Link beats Scott's ass. “So it must being going pretty bad with your dad if you want out of bowling. You love bowling.”

“Ugh, yeah it's awful,” Scott's Fox knocks Pikachu off the ledge. “Best time I've had so far was when we went to see a movie and I got to sit in the dark and ignore him for two hours. That's where I was when you called by the way. You got me out of going for ice cream afterwards. Thanks for that.”

“I'd thank Peter for that one. He died for your convenience,” Stiles' Link runs away from Fox and slashes at Kirby.

“That's awful,” Scott muses, mouth twisting in concentration. “Anyway he tries way too hard to get me to like him and then tries to act like my father. It infuriates me and makes me want to punch him in the face.”

Stiles makes supportive noises.

“You think I should give him a chance?” Scott asks and glances over at him.

“What? No, I hate the bastard. I'd punch him in the face if you wanted me to even,” Stiles is momentarily distracted and gets thrown into space by fucking Kirby. “Just tell me when.”

“Thanks, I'll keep that in mind,” Scott tells him wryly. They play silently for a bit, the click of their controllers and game music the only sound in the room. “I don't want to forgive him. At least not yet, not even close.”

Stiles dies again and turns to look at Scott. “Then don't. You don't owe him anything.”

Their game ends and Scott drops his controller. “Easier said than done.”

“Most things are,” Scott raises his eyebrows and Stiles shrugs. “Or so I've been told. Just make the douche suffer for a while, he deserves it.”

“He really does.”

They do order a couple of pizzas later that afternoon and relocate to the couch to watch a movie, and Stiles gets full and sleepy pretty fast. He's so comfortable and warm, feeling more at peace than he has in a long time. The last thing he's aware of is Scott eating pizza beside him and John McClane throwing a bomb off the subway on the TV screen. Once he thinks he hears voices talking, but sleep is too much of a draw and he lets it take him again. 

Stiles finally blinks his eyes open to see it's almost dark outside, the TV is off and a blanket has been thrown over him. He sits up enough and sees his dad's sitting at the kitchen table, looking through case files. “What time is it?”

“Ah, he's alive,” his dad says. “It's almost eleven, bud.”

Stiles yawns soundly. “What? Where's Scott?”

“He went home a little bit ago. He didn't want to wake you, said you looked like you needed it.” The Sheriff flips a file onto a different pile he has neatly lined out on the table.

“Seriously?” Stiles can't believe he slept so long, he rarely gets four or more uninterrupted hours of sleep. Stiles walks to the kitchen and grabs a water, taking a sizable drink. His mouth feels like cotton. “You talked to him? I think I remember hearing voices.”

“Yeah, we talked for a little while,” his father looks up at him. “It's a good thing you boys made up, I needed to ask him something.”

Stiles makes a face at his dad's knowing old person look. “Ask him what?” He moves to the other side of the table, sitting down across from him.

He dad throws a file over to him, and Stiles picks it up. It's full of crime scene photos and Stiles spreads them out on the table to look at them. They're not overly gory, at least not by Stiles' standards. A few stick out showing what appears to be Gerard Argent lying on a bed with a knife stuck in chest. “When did this happen?”

“We found him earlier today. Probably happened sometime last night,” his dad tells him, watching him go through the pictures. “I can't get a hold of Chris Argent, I thought Scott might have a better chance at it.”

Stiles keeps going back to a picture of Gerard, the way he's posed nicely, the lack of blood or black goo. For a killing this wasn't done cruelly. “What did Scott say?”

“That he'd try but he he hasn't heard from him since he left.” His dad lifts his head at the pictures. “What do you think?”

“I think if I didn't know any better it'd be pretty similar to how Mrs. Argent killed herself,” Stiles knows it's obvious he danced around saying Allison's name, but really doesn't care. He's had more than enough sharing and caring for today.

The Sheriff tilts his head. “You're sure he wouldn't kill himself?”

Stiles reminds himself he was loose with the supernatural details again. “No way, dude wanted to live more than anything. Besides someone obviously cleaned him up, made him look nice. It's more like a... mercy killing if anything. And if you ask me it's a better death than he deserved.” His dad raises his eyebrows at that but Stiles just waves him away. “Not important. I'd have Scott ask Argent what Kate's relationship was like with their father too.”

“She'd kill her own father?”

“She'd kill puppies and kittens if they got in her way.” Stiles tries to stifle a yawn. “Anyway can't hurt to ask.”

His dad nods, satisfied and Stiles has a feeling he'd figured this out already and just wanted Stiles to confirm it. Sly bastard. His dad starts gathering up the files and says idly, “Scott tried to hide it but he seemed pretty worried about you.”

Stiles turns from sleepy to horrified rather quickly. “You did _not_ talk about me with Scott.” He's really starting to curse himself for sleeping so soundly. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn't talk about you with Scott,” his dad parrots.

“Ugh, you're a sucky liar.”

His dad rolls his eyes at him. “I'm glad you're talking to him again. To be honest it was starting to freak me out.”

Stiles scrunches his face up. “We're not attached at the hip you know.”

“Since when?”

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles concedes on a sigh. “I wouldn't listen to Scott anyway. He's a worrier, always has been.”

“Right.” His dad slides all the files back into his bag. “I'm gonna head on up to bed.”

“Kay, I'm gonna watch some TV for a bit.” He gets up and stretches onto his toes. “Night, dad.”

His dad shuffles up the stairs. “Night, John Boy.”

\---

Stiles stays busy for the next few days, hanging out with Scott, getting his jeep tuned up, grocery shopping, talking to Lydia at length, and even practicing a little lacrosse by himself. No one else has died and Stiles is feeling rather happy about that. It's Friday and it's only noon and he's bored as hell. He has plans later with Scott but until then he's left to his own devices. Stiles eyes the shirt he never returned to Derek, it's clean and folded nicely on his desk. “Oh, what the hell.” He grabs the shirt and takes off.

Stiles is already at Derek's door again before he realizes he probably should have called first. But before he can make a decision the door slides open for him to reveal a very rumpled Derek, wearing a navy t-shirt and gray pajama pants. He looks sleep warm and very— Stiles can't help but think it— very cute. Even his stupid grumpy frown is cute and Stiles grins brightly at him, holding up his shirt. “I brought your shirt back,” Stiles tells him and shoves the shirt into his hands, using that as a distraction to maneuver his way inside.

He has to stop short in shock and awe though. “You bought _furniture_.” There's a big black leather couch in the middle of the room, and Stiles starts to drool a little. There's also a coffee table, a small, round kitchen table with two chairs. Another bigger, rectangular table where the old one used to be, and a comfortable looking sitting chair by Derek's bed. It looks like a completely different place, one where someone actually lives. “Did you go to Ikea?” Stiles takes it all in, noticing the glass had even been replaced. “The big bad werewolf, Derek Hale, goes to Ikea. _Why didn't you invite me?_ ”

“I knew I was going to regret this, I just didn't know how soon,” Derek grumbles at him but Stiles ignores him to lower himself onto the couch. It's soft like butter and Stiles moans in ecstasy, becoming one with the couch. After too long a silence from Derek's side of the room, he peers over at him. Stiles finds him watching him, and he gets the feeling Derek isn't as unaffected as he's trying to appear.

Derek sets his shirt on the coffee table. “Make yourself at home, Stiles.”

Stiles closes his eyes. “Don't mind if I do,” he pats the space beside him. “Come sit, I don't bite unless given explicit permission first.”

Derek lets out an undignified snort but sits down beside him. After a few minutes he says, sounding honestly mystified, “You keep coming back. Like an annoying stray looking food.” There’s a pause before he adds, sounding even more bemused. “And I just keep letting you in.”

Stiles looks over at Derek who's not even looking at him, he's staring straight ahead. It takes a minute but a smile spreads across Stiles’ face. “I do beg for food.”

Derek gives him the side-eye. “I’m not feeding you.”

“But it’s lunch time!” Stiles complains loudly. “And I’m hungry. Feed me!”

“Get out.”

It’s said flatly, no heat behind the words so Stiles feels free to ignore it, instead getting up and investigating Derek’s kitchen himself. He finds the holy grail in a bottom cabinet. “A waffle maker! Derek, you have a waffle maker!”

Derek gets up and waves a hand in his general direction. “What’s this? What’s wrong with you?” 

It takes a lot of effort for Stiles not to laugh. “I’m in a good mood. I know, it’s a new look.”

Derek looks him up and down before finally deciding, “I’ve seen worse.”

Stiles does laugh at that. “I’m taking that as a compliment,” he says and then before Derek can argue. “Now make me some waffles.”

To Stiles’ and the world’s utter amazement, Derek _does_. 

Stiles sits at the round kitchen table and watches him, elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands.

Derek spares him a look. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Stiles prompts, giving him an innocent face.

Derek pours the batter on the griddle with a skill that tells Stiles Derek is a waffle making connoisseur. “Like I’m an animal at a zoo.”

“Well, I do feel like I’m in a nature documentary.” He puts on a low soothing voice, “ _Watch as the lone domesticated werewolf provides sustenance for himself and—_ ”

Derek flicks waffle batter at his head.

“You didn’t!” Stiles wipes away a wet smear off his forehead, and says delightedly, “You did! Man, don’t start things you can’t finish.”

Derek doesn’t even have the grace to look worried. “Be of use and put the butter and syrup on the table.”

Stiles does as he’s told. “Seriously, I’ll get you back. Mark my words.”

Derek slides a plate of waffles in front of him. “Shut up and eat your waffles.”

They eat in companionable silence, and the waffles are really good (though he’s not sure how you could fuck up waffles). He’s licking syrup off his fingers when he feels eyes on him, and Stiles looks up. He catches the heated look Derek’s giving him before he can turn away. Stiles has to bite back a lewd comment, not wanting to ruin the friendly atmosphere. Instead he says, “You know, I’d have never thought you’d like guys.”

Derek looks up from his plate, obviously not expecting that. “I was pretty sure you did.” 

Stiles laughs, and throws a piece of waffle at him. It figures that’s what Derek would say instead of sharing and caring. “You’re one of the few, everyone else thinks I’m joking.”

Derek mindlessly picks up the thrown piece of waffle off the table, and eats it. “Well, you _are_. Doesn’t mean you still aren’t telling the truth.”

Stiles is thrown off guard by Derek’s reply, he picks up his plate and takes it to the sink, giving himself time to organize his thoughts. He turns back to Derek and shrugs. “That is how I operate eighty percent of the time.”

“I know,” Derek says, like he genuinely _knows_ it, and isn’t it weird that somehow Derek _does_ know him better than most people.

Derek brings his plate to the sink and starts washing the few dishes they’d dirtied. Stiles clears the rest of the table, and ends up drying a bowl Derek wordlessly hands him. Stiles tells him conversationally, “I figured it out a while ago. The traditional and classy way.” He waits for Derek to look at him and grins. “Porn.”

Derek shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face. “After I left here the first time,” He hands Stiles a plate to dry. “For a long time I didn’t care who I was with, as long as they were willing so was I. Found out I liked both men and women.”

“That’s… depressing,” Stiles stares at him. “How do you make everything sound so depressing? It’s like a gift.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t depressing. It was what it was.”

“Uh, huh,” Stiles eyes him for another second but drops it, putting the dishes away in the right cabinets. He leaves Derek to finish, flopping down face first into the couch. If there’s one thing you can say about Derek, it’s that he can pick out a truly amazing couch.

Stiles turns his head to the side and notices a book, open and faced down on the coffee table. The title reads _The Wars of the Roses_ , and he sits up enough to grab it, calling out to Derek. “I’d have never taken you for a history buff either.”

Derek dries his hands off on a towel, and walks towards him, grabbing the book out of his hands he says, “It’s endlessly fascinating and awful, what’s not to like?” There’s a slight defensive furrow to his brow that Stiles can’t help but find endearing. He feels a disgusting rush of affection for him.

Stiles looks up, a soft, playful smile pulling at his mouth, “Kinda like your life, then?”

Derek pushes him, until there’s enough room for him to squeeze onto the couch. “I’d have said except with more beheadings, but well…”

Stiles laughs until he’s breathless. “That was _terrible._ ” Derek’s trying to hold back a grin and doing a terrible job at it. “We’re awful people, oh my God.” He settles down enough to take advantage of Derek’s good mood, laying his head in his lap. When Derek doesn’t automatically push him off, he counts it as a win.

Derek sighs but otherwise ignores him, flipping a page in his book he settles in to read. Stiles relaxes and drifts in the silence, almost sleepy but not quite there. He feels a hand in his hair, and Stiles eyes flicker shut on their own accord. Stiles lets himself be petted, holding back a good dog joke because it feels that good, and he really doesn’t want it to stop.

With a contented sigh, Stiles opens his eyes and looks up to see Derek staring down at him. His heart jump starts in his chest because there’s desire in Derek’s eyes, but it’s subdued, almost soft looking. “You just going to stare at me?”

Derek’s tone is light. “I was thinking of shoving you onto the floor actually.”

Instead of making him laugh, Stiles thoughts turn dirty and he twists around to ogle at Derek’s crotch. “I’m amenable to that suggestion.”

Stiles hears a quick indrawn breath before he’s being pulled up and into a kiss. He returns it with fever, and Derek’s the one to keep it soft, a lazy exchange of kisses, each one turning deeper. Stiles finally feels a slide of tongue and pulls back on a groan, crawling into Derek’s lap to get closer. He’s trying to get Derek to _really_ kiss him when his phones goes off.

He tries to ignore it, but it's distracting and very persistent, and he has to pull back to dig it out of his pocket. It's Scott and Stiles holds his index finger up at Derek, who just rolls his eyes at him, but straightens up a bit. Stiles answers, “Hello?”

“Stiles? Stiles, I need you to listen to me. I think Deputy Parrish went to pick you up, he should almost be at your house, but I figured I should—”

Stiles interrupts him. “I'm not at home, Scott. I'm at Derek's loft.”

Scott curses down the line, and it makes alarm bells go off in his head. Stiles sits back on Derek’s thighs, mood completely ruined. “You're freaking me out. What's going on?”

“Your father was in a car accident. I was here with my mom when they brought him in.” Scott talks fast, and a sick fear starts churning in Stiles' stomach.

“Is he okay?”

“He's alive, I'm sorry that's all I know. Mom went back with him.” The phone slips out of fingers gone numb, and Stiles is vaguely aware of Derek catching it. He keeps replaying Scott's words, _he's alive_ like there's an _alternative_. He watches Derek talk on the phone, like he's in a dream, the world still moving around him while his starts to crumple.

Derek touches his shoulder and it snaps him out of it enough to gasp out, “I gotta go. I gotta go.”

“You gotta breathe first,” Derek tells him and Stiles hadn't even realized his breaths were coming out in stutters, no wonder the world was getting hazy. But he doesn't have time for this, and he grabs onto Derek's wrist, looking for anything to anchor him. Derek takes his other hand and places it over his chest. “Come on, breathe with me.” Stiles struggles for a few deep breaths, trying to emulate Derek's even breathing. By some miracle it works, the calm, patient look on Derek's face helping him focus. He has to go, and he staggers off of Derek and onto his feet, already fumbling for his keys.

Derek stops him and Stiles is about to yell when he says, “I'll drive.” He takes the keys out of his hands and Stiles doesn't have it in him to argue. Just heads for the door. The elevator ride takes too long, and Stiles is about to come out of his skin. Thankfully, Derek has no problems with speeding. It's not long before they're pulling up to the ER doors and as soon as the jeep jerks to a stop Derek prompts, “Go on.” Stiles doesn't need to be told twice and he hits the pavement at a run.

First thing he sees is Scott who intercepts him before he reaches the nurses desk. “Where is he? Where's my dad?”

“He's up in surgery, mom's still with him, I'm supposed to take you to the waiting room. You'll be the first to know anything. I promise.”

“Surgery?”

Scott looks upset, grabbing him by the arms. “I don't know anything, Stiles, I'm sorry.”

“ _Scott_.”

“All I heard was something about abdominal bleeding but I'm sure—”

Stiles feels his knees start to buckle but luckily Scott catches him and pulls him into what Stiles assumes is an empty room. All Stiles can hear is the rush of blood in his ears as Scott pushes him down into a chair.

Scott crouches in front of him. “Look at me, Stiles, look at me.” He shakes his arm gently to get his attention. “If anything happens, if it takes a turn for the worst my mom will come and get me. Do you understand? I won't let your father die.”

It takes a moment for what Scott is saying to penetrate the fog but when it does it sends him reeling. “Oh, God he would hate that,” Stiles almost laughs it's so ridiculous. “He would hate that.” Not that it matters. There's no question to what he'd choose if it comes down to it, his father dead or a werewolf? It’s not even a question.

“I think your dad would do anything to stay here with you,” Scott tells him, sincere eyes and earnest voice, and it breaks Stiles a little.

“Scott, I can't—” Stiles chokes out. “He's all I got I can't—” Stiles can't even finish a sentence, can't even catch a breath.

“I know,” Scott takes his hand and squeezes. “But you won't have to. He's going to be fine, you'll see.”

Scott sits with him, not letting go of his hand while he calms down. It takes longer than Stiles would like but he finally gets himself under control. “We should go.”

Scott nods and ushers him out the door, an almost hovering presence all the way to the surgical waiting room. It's empty and they sit in chairs closest to the door. Scott takes his hand again when his fidgeting gets too erratic. It does help and Stiles squeezes back. 

“Scott?” Stiles ventures. “You'd really turn my dad? You'd do that for me?”

Scott gives him a weird look, like he's asking stupid questions. “Of course.”

Stiles looks away, not wanting to show how much those words affect him. He wants to ask other questions, like _what happens if the bite doesn't take_ or million other _what ifs_ but can't bring himself to. All he can do is wait.

The wait is torture and feels like time crawls by, he tries to tell himself that it’s a good thing, that these things take time. Stiles is two seconds from getting up and demanding information when Scott's mom finally walks through the doors.

The small smile on her face tells him everything he needs to know. His relief is so great it almost makes him dizzy with it. “I've been breaking protocol left and right today, and I see no reason to stop now. Stiles, would you like to see your dad for a few minutes?”

“Yes,” Stiles says immediately. “Please.”

She opens the door. “This way.” Scott follows him and Melissa tells Stiles the basics of his father's condition on the way. “He has a broken wrist, an abundance of cuts and bruises, and he's down a spleen.”

Stiles almost trips at her words.

Melissa puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It ruptured from the crash causing a lot of blood to leak into his abdomen. They removed it and gave him multiple blood transfusions.” She steers him down a different hallway and says gently. “The doctor can tell you more but in my personal and professional opinion he's going to be fine. Your dad's pretty tough.”

They stop at a door and she nudges him. “I can only guarantee you a few minutes. Get in there.”

Stiles pushes the door open and walks in alone. There's a few beds in the room but only one is occupied, beeping machines and IVs attached. His father is pale and completely still, there's a large bruise by his left eye, small cuts and scrapes on his forehead and cheeks. Stiles takes his hand and watches his chest rise and fall. “Who needs a spleen anyways? It's a stupid organ, no one even knows what it does.”

He keeps talking, it's what he does best. “And at least Scott didn't have to bite you. That would have been weird. And you being a werewolf would have been horrifyingly weird. So all things considered I think we got off easy here.”

Stiles is very aware that any of this being considered easy is outright absurd, but it's either joke about it or go insane, so joke about it is. He tightens his grip on his father's hand. “But you really need to not do this again. You're going to age me prematurely. Think of the waste that would be, dad. Think of the waste.”

There's a rap on the door, indicating his time's up and Stiles give his dad one last look. “I'll see you in a bit, you already know how much I love you so I won't tell you. Cause you already know it.”

Stiles wipes his eyes, tears leaking out without his permission, and leaves. He finds Scott standing outside the door, who takes his arm. “Mom will come find us the moment he's out of here and in his own room. Okay?” Stiles just nods at him, words for once being beyond him.

\---

Scott is asleep in the corner, head slumped back on the uncomfortable hospital chair. There's a small cot shoved in not far from him, Scott's mom telling him when they got here that it was marginally better than sleeping on the chairs.

It's empty because Stiles hasn't left the chair by his father's bedside the long hours they've been here. His father had awakened a few times, not really coherent and the doctor had assured him it was normal, that resting was the best thing for him right now.

Stiles looks up when the door opens and it's just Melissa, looking worn and exhausted. Stiles wonders how long ago her shift ended. She quietly checks his dad's vitals and he feels compelled to say something. “You gonna get fired for all those rules you've been bending for us?”

She glances over at him. “Nah, this whole hospital would fall apart without me. Everyone knows that.” A tired smile appears on her face and Stiles gives her one in return.

He has no idea how to put into words how much it means to him so he simply says, “Thank you.”

She looks up at that and most see something on his face. “Aw, hon, that's really not necessary.”

“No it is, you’ve done a lot for us, for me.” He glances at his dad asleep and then back to her. “Even if you had to compare me to a butterfly to Scott.”

She laughs softly. “I was trying to reassure him,” she shoots her son a fond smile. “His hearts in the right place, but he still thinks he can fix everything. He doesn't realize that sometimes people just need a little time.”

Stiles feels raw, like an exposed nerve making everything hurt, and he doesn't think he's up for an in depth look at his emotions. Still he tries for a reassuring smile, “Good thing I'm young then, right?” But before she can say anything in return he nods his head at Scott's sleeping form. “You should take him home, get some sleep. No offense but you look like you could use it.”

“No offense but you look like you could use a good year’s worth of sleep,” she quips back but then shakes her head. “I'll find a bed to crash in for a few hours and then take him home in the morning. I figure someone is going to have to bring you some clean clothes. Your father's going to be here for a while.”

Stiles frowns at that. “How long?”

“A week, maybe less depending on how crazy he drives us nurses.” She pats the Sheriff's arm affectionately though.

Stiles winces in sympathy. His dad hates the hospital, it's almost definite that he's going to be a terrible patient. Melissa walks over to him and ruffles his hair lightly before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his head. “I brought that cot in here for a reason. Get some sleep.”

Stiles lets out a breath and nods, watches her walk out of the room. His dad stirs at the noise and Stiles turns back to him. The Sheriff attempts to sit up. “Hey, hey, lay back down.”

“Stiles?” his father peers blearily at him. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Stiles tells him and takes his hand. “You were the one in a car accident.”

“Oh,” his dad takes in his surroundings, but quickly turns back to Stiles. “But you're okay?”

Stiles can't stop a watery laugh that comes out. “I'm okay, dad, I promise. I'm a little worried about you though.”

His dad’s eyes flicker, obviously fighting sleep. “I'll be okay, don't worry about me.” He lifts up his left wrist, covered in a bright white cast. “This is new.”

Stiles squeezes his dad's hand, getting his attention. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

The Sheriff’s eyes flutter shut. “You'll be here?”

“Nowhere else I'd be,” Stiles says softly as his dad drifts off. He keeps his hand where it is, not letting go.


	4. Chapter 4

Early the next morning he and Scott grab a cup of coffee while the doctor and nurses descend upon his father. It takes him a minute to convince Scott to head home, he's obviously torn about leaving Stiles alone. He finally gives in when Stiles asks him to pick up a few things from his house for him.

That's when Stiles realizes he doesn't have his keys or phone with him. Derek must still have them, and he looks over at Scott trying to hide a yawn behind his styrofoam coffee cup. “Uh, you know where the spare key is right?”

Scott nods sleepily at him. “Yeah, you need me to do anything else?”

Stiles shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee. “No, I'm good.”

Scott gives him a good look, then pulls him into a loose hug, minding the hot drinks they're holding. “Alright. I'll see you later.”

Stiles watches him walk away, catching Scott’s mom waiting in the doorway for him. He refills his coffee cup and heads back to his father's room. 

His dad is propped up on pillows and a light breakfast is on a table in front of him. His father already looks sullen and Stiles has to bite back a smile. He sits down on the cot and savors his coffee while his dad badgers him to eat something. He nibbles on part of a bagel and watches his dad grumpily eat his oatmeal.

The Sheriff throws him a frown. “Why are you smiling?”

Stiles doesn't want to ruin the moment by saying he's happy his father isn't dead, and he can't tell him he's acting like a petulant child either, so he just shrugs. “It's a nice day is all.”

His dad isn't stupid, he knows what Stiles isn't saying but he leaves it, frowning harder at his plate. “It is for people not eating this crap.”

Stiles laughs and bites off more of his bagel. “I don't know, I don't think it's that bad.”

After breakfast his father turns the TV on low and Stiles falls asleep on the cot. He wakes intermittently, checking on his father, who falls in and out of sleep himself. Around noon his father kicks him out, telling him to get something to eat in the cafeteria while a nurse checks him over.

Stiles walks down a bit like a zombie, and buys a bowl of fruit and a sandwich. He doesn't have much of an appetite but he knows he needs to eat, so he does. He takes his time, feeling a bit sluggish before making his way back up. Right before he’s about to turn the corner to his dad's room he hears voices he recognizes and he slows to a stop.

“I can't believe we still haven't found whoever hit him. And we don't even know who it is because the vehicle was reported stolen two weeks ago!” Stiles peeks around the corner and sees Deputy Parrish in front of his father's hospital room. He's with Deputy Garrett— whom Stiles refers to as Deputy Dickwad because he is, in fact, a dickwad.

“The Sheriff is lucky to be alive, you saw that scrap of metal that was his cruiser. Whoever did this is dead in the woods somewhere, mark my words.” Deputy Dickwad tells a worried looking Parrish, and Stiles makes a mental note to tell his father to fire him for the hundredth time.

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Parrish makes a restless movement and Stiles pulls back against the wall.

“Relax. We don't need to tell him anything right now. We'll say everything's being handled and he just needs to concentrate on getting better.”

“I'm not going to lie.” Parrish says scathingly, and then Stiles hears a drawn out sigh. “But I don't want to worry him while he's in the hospital either.”

“Just let me do all the talking then, alright?” Stiles hears a door open and he turns away blindly, running smack dab into somebody. It's like running into a brick wall and the person barely falters, strong arms catching him before he falls back on his ass. Stiles knows it's Derek even before he looks up at his surprised face.

“Stiles?” Derek sets him back on his feet. “Everything okay?”

Stiles doesn't answer, his thoughts in a bit of a whirlwind. He looks around a tad desperately for a place they can talk and sees a janitor’s closet at the end of the hall. Stiles grabs Derek's arm and drags him to it. By some miracle it's unlocked (though he totally would have made Derek break it if it hadn’t been) and he tugs an obviously confused Derek inside. It's a tight fit but Stiles makes it work, pushing Derek to the back and then shifting back to turn on the light. 

“Uh, Stiles?”

Stiles fidgets in the foot of space he has, mind going a mile a minute before stepping up close to Derek. “Okay, tell me I'm being paranoid.” Stiles tells him about the conversation he just heard, emphasizing on the stolen vehicle and the unaccounted for driver.

Derek unfortunately reaches the same conclusion he has. “You're thinking this wasn't an accident.”

“It fits,” Stiles says grimly. “What normal person walks away from a crash that bad?”

“You want me to look into it?” Derek asks. “See if I can find anything?”

Stiles surges up and kisses him, lips persistent on his until Derek opens up for him. Stiles kisses him within an inch of his life, giving Derek everything he's got.

Derek pulls back slowly, breath coming out in a huff of air. “What was that for?”

Stiles can't help but be gratified at the dazed look on Derek's face. “Cause I wanted to.” It comes out rough and Stiles has to clear his throat. “And you know, a preemptive thank you.”

“Keep that for when I actually find something,” Derek wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I better go, I don't want the trail to go any colder.”

“Right,” Stiles backs up a little and says only half-joking. “Be careful. My dad's not going to be around to let you out if you get arrested for lurking.”

“I think I can handle that.”

The door swings open and they both jerk their heads towards it. It's janitor Bob, Stiles remembers him from the long nights he spent here when Lydia was ill. Janitor Bob looks at them for a long moment before saying, “Nope,” and shuts the door again. They hear him whistling as he walks back down the hallway.

Stiles lets out a snicker, and even Derek looks like he's trying to keep the frown on his face. Man, he's always liked Janitor Bob. Stiles cracks the door open and when he doesn't see anyone in the hallway he lets himself out, Derek following him. The door's barely clicked shut when Scott walks around the corner.

He's carrying a gym bag and gives them a strange look. “What's going on?”

Stiles tries to act normal and like he just didn't come out of a closet with Derek. He's saved from replying when Derek pulls Stiles’ phone and jeep keys out of his pocket. “I thought you might need these.”

Stiles gives him a small smile and takes them out of his hands. “Thanks, I kept forgetting you had them.”

Derek nods to Scott, acknowledging his presence and then turns back to Stiles. “I'll see you later.”

Stiles watches Scott's face follow Derek as he leaves and isn't surprised at all when Scott jerks his head back around to exclaim, “Dude, what the hell was that all about?”

Stiles just shakes his head. “I'll tell you later.” He grabs Scott's arm before he can protest and pulls him towards his father's room. “Just trust me, we need to interrupt some deputies. Parrish can't lie to save his life.”

Scott huffs out a breath and he doesn't look happy, but he keeps quiet and dutifully follows Stiles.

\---

It's easy enough to get rid of them, their presence alone shuffling the deputies out the door. Scott stays for a little while, showing him what he grabbed from his house (a few change of clothes, books for him and his dad, his DS and some games).

When Scott remembers he has a practice session with Kira and Malia (he says lacrosse but Stiles knows it more than that) he looks over at Stiles' regretfully, like he wants to ask him to go with him but knows better.

Except his meddling father who had seemed pretty absorbed in Animal Cops till then says, “You should go with him, you need some fresh air. Blow the hospital stink off.”

Stiles know that isn't an option because a) he hasn't seen Malia since the end of school and holy awkward batman, and b) he isn't leaving his father alone when there's potentially someone out there who wants to kill him. So he gives Scott a tight smile and not so subtlety tries to rush him out the door. “I'll call you later.”

Scott stops him in the doorway and says quietly so only he can hear. “I'm getting really tired of _later_.”

Stiles tries to suppress a wince and wonders if feeling guilty is going to be a permanent fixture in his foreseeable future. “Just give me till tomorrow. We'll have a very big, very detailed breakfast in the cafeteria. Okay?”

Scott doesn't seem too impressed with him but nods in agreement. “I'll hold you to that.” It sounds more like a threat than anything else. Stiles kinda deflates once he's left and it's obvious his dad isn't happy with him. He's just disappointing everyone today.

When dinner time rolls around for once he gladly takes himself down to the cafeteria. He takes his time eating, even chats with a few nurses he remembers being nice to him before. When he's heading back to his father's room he sees Derek walking towards him. Stiles stops and makes a quick decision knowing that this isn't going to be a conversation he wants to have here in the hallway. He jerks his head to his left and hopes Derek gets the message to follow him. He takes a few turns and then trots up a few flight of stairs. He can't believe he's actually feeling grateful for knowing this hospital like the back of his hand.

But it's come in handy as he shoulders a door open to the roof, quickly shoving a small brick already there to keep it cracked.

Derek doesn't make him wait long, pushing through door and stepping out onto the roof. He looks straight to Stiles. “You were right. It was a werewolf that hit your father.”

Stiles had been expecting it but it still feels like a blow. He turns away from Derek and takes a moment to collect himself. “Go on.”

Derek doesn't drag it out, just says, “I looked through the truck and the crash site. The blood, the scent— it was all wolf. I didn't recognize who it was, but it was definitely a male werewolf.”

Stiles turns back around and states, “So it wasn't Kate.”

Derek frowns. “Not personally, but it has her MO written all over it. Hiding murders behind accidents or deflecting blame onto somebody else.” Derek takes a few steps closer to him and his eyes search Stiles' face. “I tracked the wolf's scent and blood trail as far as I could, but lost it around a creek. They knew how to hide their trail.”

“Like a hunter would?” Stiles walks away from him and eyes that would see too much. He's silent for a while before finally asking, “Would you recognize this guy? If you met him or passed him by?”

“Of course,” Derek waits a few more beats before asking, “You okay?”

Stiles’ snort of laughter is full of self-deprecation. “That word no longer applies to me, I don't think.” He shrugs his shoulders. “But I'm not about to have another breakdown if that's what you're asking.”

“I just want to know what's going through that head of yours.”

Stiles wants to snark back something along the lines of _don't you already know_ but refrains. Because for once his thought process is quite simple. “I want him dead. I want the guy that did this dead and _burned_.”

“Want me to kill him?” Derek asks lightly, like it's the most mundane thing in the world to ask.

Stiles jerks back to stare at him in surprise. “What? No, _I_ want to kill him.”

Derek rocks back onto his heels and puts his hands in his pocket, a good act at nonchalance. “You're at a bit of a disadvantage.”

“I'm always at a bit of a disadvantage around here,” Stiles informs him.

Derek removes his hands from his pockets and takes a moment to eye him. His tone is serious when he says, “Alright, I'll help you kill him.”

And Stiles has a nice haze hovering over him, keeping the worst of his tumult emotions from overwhelming him. But Derek's words brings some of the bone-searing anger to the surface, and Stiles reacts badly, sniping, “Why?” He throws Derek an unimpressed look. “Shouldn't you be telling me revenge and murder are unhealthy life choices?”

“Stiles, I'm not your moral compass. If you wanted someone to talk you out of this you would have went to Scott.” Derek's face goes from frustrated to dark in the span of a few seconds. “And I know all about wanting revenge. I figure you can decide for yourself if it's worth the cost it takes to get it.” His intensity fades as adds, “Besides, this way I can stop you from doing anything stupid.”

Stiles knows Derek isn't wrong, especially on why he hadn't wanted to tell Scott about this just yet. But he does bristle at his last point. “I don't need your protection.”

“Maybe, I want to give it to you anyway.” Derek tells him, voice low and rough.

Stiles sucks in a breath, his anger completely fading away. Coming from anyone else those words wouldn't even give him pause, but this is _Derek_ he's talking to. It scares him for some reason and makes him feel utterly lost and confused. He raises his eyes to Derek's and asks softly, “You really wouldn't try and stop me?”

Derek’s face becomes shadowed. “If you wanted I'd hold him down while you slit his throat.”

Stiles closes his eyes and it's horrible, not just Derek's words but how they make him feel. A fierce jolt of _yes_ , a dark satisfaction that he can't ignore. That that is exactly what he wants, something real and brutal, something flesh and bone he can empty his fury into. Stiles feels like he should shy away from the ugliness inside of him but he doesn't, just opens his eyes and says raggedly, “Yes.” He doesn't think he could admit it to anyone else.

Derek must see something he's not saying because his eyes darken and an almost imperceptible shudder runs through him. Stiles is having trouble breathing and doesn't know if he's going to try and rip Derek apart, or if he's about to fall apart himself.

Stiles knows he's completely off his rocker, and in an effort not to make himself a liar and have another breakdown he makes to escape. “I should get back. My dad shouldn't be alone for too long.”

Stiles has barely taken two steps when he hears, “Stiles.”

He doesn't mean to stop but he does, and he looks back at Derek. And the thing he's been ignoring, avoiding and flat out denying since the Nogitsune possession was that a small, small part of him had _liked_ it. Not losing control of himself, no, but the feelings it had brought along with it. The utter freedom in not caring, the thrill of leaving everything behind, and just _relishing_ in his darkest desires. He's just not scared of being possessed anymore, he's afraid of the knowledge it had left behind. That he's had this kind of darkness in him all along. That given the right push even he isn't sure of what he's capable of doing, and it's an adrenaline-filled, terrifying thought.

Derek lets out a breath, and Stiles has no clue what he sees on his face. But the knowing look Derek gives him, like he _understands_ is enough for Stiles to let go. He rushes into Derek and clings, burying his face into his neck. Derek only falters for a second before hugging him back, and Stiles just lets himself hide for a moment. He calms down enough to mutter into Derek's neck, “You shouldn't be nice, it makes me want to do bad things to you.”

He hears a rumble in his ear that might be laughter. Stiles pulls back enough to lay a gentle kiss on Derek's neck. He says barely audible, but knowing Derek will hear him anyway, “Seriously, the things I want to do to you. It's getting to be a problem.”

Derek lets out a small groan and pulls away from him. “You've always been a problem for me.”

Stiles gives him a semblance of a smile, and shakes his head. He makes to leave again when Derek stops him with a hand on his arm. “Hey, I will find the guy who did this. I promise you.”

It's a nice, even appreciated gesture, but it makes Stiles pause. He's so tired of being weak, having everyone else do his dirty work, _protecting_ him. “Teach me how to fight.”

He didn't even know he was going to blurt that out and Derek seems just as surprised. “What?”

Thinking it through, Stiles really warms to the thought. “No, I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. I mean I'm never going to be a match for you guys, but I should at least be able to defend myself. You can teach me that, right?”

Derek looks unsure. “I don't know if that will—”

Stiles cuts him off, “Hunters are human and can give you a run for your money, admittedly with all their fancy gadgets and weapons, but still. It can't hurt to try.”

“Alright, alright I'll teach you some basics, but I warn you I won't go easy on you. That's not how I work.”

“Just like old times then.” Stiles gives him a sly grin. “Maybe after throwing me around a bit, I'll get a few orgasms out of it this time.”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle he doesn't strain something. “Christ, I'm leaving.”

Stiles is amazed at how having a plan, a course of action to follow can lift his mood. Some of it might have something to do with Derek but he's not going to acknowledging that. That line of thinking leads to madness. “Good decision. My animal magnetism is hard to resist, I know.”

Derek lifts an arm up to flip him off and keeps walking. Stiles lets out a snort of laughter and doesn't look too closely at the rising warmness crowding out the darkness in his chest.

\---

Scott takes the news about as well as Stiles expected, which is not well at all. It's weirdly nice to see Scott's anger on his behalf though. They're sitting in the hospital cafeteria, eating breakfast in the most secluded corner they could find. “Derek really thinks Kate's behind this?”

Stiles takes a drink of orange juice before answering. “Yes, and I hate to say it because I know we're short on numbers.” Stiles wants to make a joke about people literally and figuratively dying to get out of Beacon Hills but even he knows that's in bad taste. Plus it's really not even funny. “But we really need to stop playing defense before she kills someone else.”

Scott nods grimly and asks, “When's Lydia coming back?”

“Not for another few weeks last I remember. I should give her a call though.” Stiles takes a bite of his breakfast burrito and watches Scott push his eggs around his plate.

“You planning on telling your dad?”

“Yeah, it'd be too dangerous not to. But I wanted to wait till he was out of the hospital first. Don't want to worry him just yet, you know?”

Scott nods in understanding. “We need a plan but we're flying blind here. We need more information.”

Stiles eyes him. “You're not planning on doing something stupid, are you?”

“Of course not, that's your job,” Scott says it jokingly but there's enough of a bite to it that Stiles just shakes his head and stays clear of whatever the hell that's about.

\---

It's two more days before his father is released from the hospital, the doctor giving him one last stern lecture not to overdo it, and to make sure he takes his medication. Apparently the spleen has a use and losing it can greatly increase your risk of infections. Stiles thinks he might have read that somewhere before and could have happily went his whole life having forgot it. As it is it just adds more for him to worry about and grow prematurely gray over.

Stiles takes him home and has hard time keeping himself from hovering, thus driving his father nuts. In the end exhaustion wins out when he falls onto his bed for the first time in over a week.

The next day Scott comes over in the afternoon and makes an effort to distract him. It's marginally working when he gets a text from Derek saying he's free to, quote, “Kick your ass in the name of teaching you self-defense.” Stiles is conflicted but ends up convincing Scott to watch over his dad for an hour or two while he goes grocery shopping. He'd have told Scott the whole truth but every time Stiles brings up Derek's name he gets all weird, and Stiles is avoiding that with a ten-foot pole. He still hasn't told his dad the truth about his accident either, but that's just his procrastination from dreading that conversation. In any case, his dad is just glad he's getting out of the house, so he doesn't really question Scott's remaining presence (though Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that he's going to grill Scott about him as soon as he leaves.)

Stiles gets to Derek's quickly to find the new furniture pushed aside and mats laid out. As soon as Derek gets a good look at him he sighs, but gives him a pair of workout clothes without too much grumbling.

Stiles takes it in stride, pulling on too big shorts and t-shirt in a hurry. Afterwards Derek's true to his word and puts him through his paces, teaching him how to throw a proper punch, kick, checks his reflexes and how to break a hold. Even how to fall in a way to minimize injuries. By the end of the hour Stiles is dripping with sweat and his lungs are refusing to cooperate. He's thrown back to the mat for the hundredth time, and seriously questions his ability to get up again. He wheezes. “You're a fucking sadist, Jesus. I've had my suspicions, now I’m fucking convinced.”

Derek's has barely a drop of sweat on him and is grinning down at him. “You asked for this remember. I did warn you.”

Stiles flaps a hand at him and groans. “Help me up, I'm done for.”

Derek takes a step towards him and holds out a hand. Stiles grabs it and quickly pulls as hard as he can. Derek falls forward just enough to catch himself on a hand slapped down by Stiles' head. Derek's hovering over him and Stiles grins up at him in gratification, even if it had mostly worked because he'd caught Derek off guard rather than down to any skill of his own.

Derek shakes his head down at him but has a smirk curling his mouth up. “Not bad for your first try.”

“Do I get a prize?” Stiles asks lasciviously as possible. But he keeps his hands to himself, needing Derek to make the first move even if it's just to push him away.

Luckily Derek looks amused and settles himself more comfortably over him. “What do you want?”

Stiles thinks he's been pretty obvious about what he wants so instead of answering he pushes at Derek to try and make him roll over. Derek lets him manhandle him with quiet amusement as he lands on his back with Stiles over him.

Stiles kisses him first because he can't not when Derek's mouth is right there, warm and inviting. He breaks away soon enough and moves to settle himself between Derek's legs. Stiles sees Derek about to say something but stops him as he starts tugging on Derek's shirt, trying to get the offending garment off. Derek helps with a huff of laughter and then Stiles is moving again, mouthing his way down his chest and feeling every inch of delicious revealed skin with his hands and mouth.

Stiles wants to draw this out but knows he's short on time and patience. He places a lingering wet-mouthed kiss under Derek's navel, and then quickly pulls his sweatpants and underwear down. Derek's breathing harder than he was the whole freaking hour of sparring, and Stiles is torn between taking it as a compliment and being annoyed at super werewolf stamina. Stiles gets a nice look at Derek's hard cock for a moment before leaning down and licking away the drops of moisture gathered around its head.

“Stiles, you don't—” he breaks off on a pretty loud moan when Stiles takes him into his mouth and sucks hard. Stiles gets his bearings, sliding his mouth down and then back up, flicking his tongue along the underside of Derek's dick.

Stiles lets him fall out of his mouth before saying quite honestly, “I really _want_.” Because seriously, if Derek can't see he's gagging for it he's _blind_. “If you don't mind?”

Derek groans and his head drops back onto the mat with a thump. “ _Fuck_ , Stiles,” He sounds pained. “ _Do I mind_? You're killing me.”

Stiles lets a smile quirk his lips before diving back down. He lets himself explore, knowing Derek can take it as he experiments with lips and tongue, pressure and speed. For the moment there's nothing but the sound of Derek's harsh breathing and the wet slide of Stiles mouth on skin.

Stiles feels like he's burning up, so turned on he can barely think. He pulls back with Derek coming out of his mouth with wet pop, saliva dripping down his chin. Stiles looks up to find Derek slightly propped up on an elbow but with his eyes tightly closed. When he opens them they're blown wide, dark and piercing, and Stiles can't hold back a shudder at his look. Derek's obviously holding his self-control in check by a thread, hands gripping the mat with superhuman strength.

Stiles barely stops himself from shoving a hand down his shorts and jerking himself off. Instead he grips the base of Derek's cock, sliding his mouth down to meet his hand. He tries to get a rhythm going, using his hands to help where his mouth can't reach. Stiles knows Derek must be getting close when he suddenly jerks, an aborted thrust of his hips. Stiles feels Derek's cock push past what he thought he could take, down his throat, and Stiles pulls back on weak cough. It turns into a groan, the feeling of literally choking on dick making him burn, arousal dark and heady pulsing through him.

He wants to try that again but gets distracted by a hand curling around his cheek. “Stiles, Stiles.”

Stiles looks up him, already leaning into the hand on face without a conscious thought. He looks into searing, wild eyes and says hoarsely, “ _I want_.”

Stiles puts a hand over Derek's hand on his face, keeping it there as he takes him back in his mouth. Stile is rewarded with a low moan from Derek, and Stiles is honestly surprised he hasn't come untouched in his shorts already he's so turned on. He starts moving again, sucking and swirling his tongue over Derek's continuously leaking slit. Stiles lets his hand drop but Derek leaves his palm on Stiles' face, obviously feeling his cock move in and out through his cheek. Derek suddenly grabs a handful of Stiles' hair and pulls lightly. “Stiles, I—”

Stiles gets the message and sucks harder, feeling Derek explode on his tongue, salty and hot. He tries to swallow it all but it's way too much, leaking out of his mouth and down his chin. Stiles almost chokes and has to pull away, and the last of Derek's come hits him on his neck and chin. Stiles is a mess and so full of lust he feels drugged with it. Derek's panting harshly above him and with a bitten off curse he pulls Stiles up to him, taking his mouth in a wet filthy kiss. Derek's mouth moves down to his chin and neck, and Stiles moans when he realizes Derek's licking away his own come.

Stiles can't help but rut against him too far gone to care about finesse or anything other than getting off. Derek pulls away and says hastily, “Wait, wait, here,” and he quickly shoves Stiles' shorts and boxers out of the way. Stiles gets confused when he doesn't immediately touch his dick, and has to bite his lip to hold back in a whine of impatience. But Derek guides him to where he wants him, which is pressed tightly between his messy come and drool covered thighs. The easy slide pulls a strangled noise out of his throat, and Stiles has to hold on to something, grabbing Derek's shoulder tightly as he moves. Derek's watching him with lidded eyes, “Come on, Stiles, come on me.”

Stiles does, back bowing as pleasure hits, consuming him till there's nothing left. Stiles barely feels Derek's hands on him, soothing him, and he realizes that the low, almost pained noises are coming out of him. He collapses down onto Derek, head hitting his chest and just focuses on breathing.

It's a long time before his brain comes back online, and it's the most content he's felt in a long time, like all his problems got sucked out through his dick. Derek doesn't seem to be in a rush to push him away, but he feels compelled to say something. “I don't want to brag, but I think I saw the face of Jesus there. Just for a second.”

He feels more than hears Derek's rumble of laughter. “It was probably Lucifer. I think I saw him too.”

A slow pleased smile curls his face. Finally with a reluctant groan he sits up, and their bodies part with an audible wet sticky noise. Stiles makes a face. “Derek is this amount of jizz a werewolf thing, or a you thing?”

Derek doesn't seem the least bit concerned, stretching out on his back with his eyes closed. “I don't know, I've never been human. Ask Scott.”

Stiles laughs in surprise. “Sure, I'll just ask him if his semen production increased after he became a werewolf over lunch tomorrow. That wouldn't be weird at all.” Though now that he thinks about it, that is something he would randomly ask. Stiles wonder what that says about his curiosity.

Derek doesn't reply but there's smile on his face, and Stiles feels a swell of affection for him that he doesn't know what to do with. He shakes his head and says, “I'm taking a shower, you stay here, being lazy and disgusting. And naked.”

Derek actually flicks his fingers at him to wave him off as Stiles retreats to the bathroom, and he tries to crush the warm fuzzy feelings rising in his chest. He's terribly unsuccessful.

\---

Stiles gets home a half hour later, bringing in bags of much needed groceries he'd rushed to get. Scott is behind him as soon as he makes it to the kitchen with a pinched look on his face, and Stiles knows that can’t mean anything good.

Scott's gaze follows him about the kitchen as he puts stuff away. “What took you so long?” He doesn't sound mad but there's a sharpness to his tone that doesn't bode well.

“Just getting slow and feeble in my old age, I guess,” Stiles jokes, knowing it won't help the situation but unable to stop himself.

“How's Derek doing?” Scott tosses back at him and Stiles head snaps over to him.

“Would you—” Stiles cuts off and looks around like his dad's going to pop out of the woodwork. He curses and grabs Scott's arm, pulling him up the stairs and into his room. Once he's gotten the door firmly shut he rounds on Scott. “What is your deal?”

Scott takes an agitated step back. “Look, I haven't said anything because it's never been the right time, but,” his eyes focus back on Stiles, “Want to tell me what's going on with you and Derek?”

Stiles tries not to react but his heart-rate picks up and knows he literally can't get away with lying to Scott. Doesn't even really want to. He slowly shakes his head and just says, “No, I really don't.”

“You going to make me say it?” Scott asks, anger building like a storm on his face.

Stiles bites out. “Say _what_ , Scott?”

“Are you fucking Derek Hale?” Scott shoots back.

Stiles can't stop himself from flinching slightly or looking towards the door. “Could you keep it down? Jesus.”

Scott closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his face. “Your dad's still asleep on the couch.” He opens his eyes and states, “That wasn't an answer.”

“Because you already know the answer. Yes, alright? I'm fucking Derek. Can we drop it?” Stiles feels defensive and wrong-footed. Stiles had thought Scott would be surprised, maybe even a little weirded out by his thing with Derek, but not _angry_. If it were almost anyone else he would think it was some type of latent homophobia roaring its ugly head, and even though they've never really talked about his attraction to guys, he'd never in a million years believe Scott was capable of that type of cruelty.

“No, we can't _drop_ it,” Scott says scathingly. “Stiles, what the hell? Have you lost your mind?”

“Not since the last time,” Stiles snips at him. Scott visibly falters and he presses on, “Dude, what is your problem? It's not a big deal.”

Scott looks a little strangled, obviously trying to rein in his anger. “It's _Derek_ , who's violent and rude. Who makes the worst decisions, and is more emotionally unstable than the both of us _combined_.” Scott takes a breath and adds, “Who's also lot older than you, and if your dad found out he'd kill him dead. Like five times over. How is any of this _not a big deal_?”

“Oh,” When put like that Stiles really can't argue, except for the fact he might be giving Derek a run for his money on who's more emotionally nuttier than a fruitcake, but that really wouldn't help his case. “Look, Scott, I'm not _dating_ him,” Stiles tells him with grimace, “None of that matters. We're just fooling around. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Stiles, it's just,” Scott turns hesitant for the first time since this conversation started. “Ever since the Nogitsune, and Allison you've been— it's like you've been looking for punishment. Like you think everyone should blame you for what happened. And when we don't you get... self-destructive. ”

Stiles sputters out surprised laughter, but the solemn look on Scott's face makes him fall silent, and anger flashes through him. “What the fuck, Scott? You really think I'd use Derek to make myself feel less guilty about—”

“I didn't _say_ that,” Scott interrupts. “I just don't think you know what you're doing. _Either_ of you. Derek has the tendency to hurt the people closest to him, whether he means to or not.”

“Did you take a Psych one-oh-one when I wasn't looking?” Stiles spits out. Everyone's been trying to psychoanalyze him lately and it's getting really fucking old. He tries to keep his voice even when he says, “Derek wouldn't hurt me. Not like that. He hasn't done anything I haven't wanted him to do.”

“That's what I'm afraid of!” Scott bursts out, his eyes flashing red. He stops and takes a deep breath, obviously making an effort to control his temper before saying in a quieter tone. “You have bruises.” His eyes are still filled with anger as he jerks his head down to Stiles' arm. “You didn't have them before you left.”

Stiles looks down at his arm and sure enough there's constellation of small bruises going from his forearm to wrist. Stiles is 98% sure they’re from Derek trying to teach him how to break a hold, and just general bruising from sparring. Stiles shoves his sleeves back down from where they'd ridden up, and vigorously shakes his head. “Oh God, no. You have it all wrong. I asked Derek to teach me how to fight. Some basic self-defense. He was helping me.”

Scott doesn't look entirely convinced. “You didn't tell me that.” He gives Stiles a long look before moving over to the dresser, pulling out the top drawer. Scott tosses something at him. “And these?”

Stiles catches it automatically, realizing it’s his dad’s almost empty, hydrocodone bottle. He wants to demand to know why Scott was snooping in his room, but even angry he knows they’ve never been like that. They’ve always been in each others shit, with no regard to privacy, and bringing up boundaries now would sound ridiculous, or worse, sound like he has something to hide. He sighs and tells the truth. “Kate hurt me more than I let on.”

When Scott just stares at him, he wordlessly turns around and lifts his shirt. Stiles knows the new, angry-red scars will speak for themselves. He feels fingertips trail down the middle of his back. “Jesus, Stiles.”

Stiles admits the bruises and pills look bad (alright, everything looks bad), but he's still horrified that Scott would think he'd want Derek to hurt him, or that Derek would have done it if he'd asked. He drops his shirt and turns back around. “You think I'm that much of a headcase? That I would use someone to hurt myself?”

“You're not a headcase,” Scott tells him, frustration and concern warring on his face. “And I don't think you'd do it on purpose.” He sits down on the end of Stiles’ bed and stares up at him. “But I honestly don't know what you're thinking. You keep hiding things from me, and you're still not talking to me.” Scott leans toward him and says plaintively, “I'm not trying to be an asshole, Stiles. I'm just worried about you.”

Stiles can't keep a hold on his anger anymore and what's left behind are realities he doesn't want to deal with. “I'm fine,” he says and the tremble in his voice calls out the lie better than Scott ever could.

“Stiles—”

Stiles is already shaking his head. “I just— I need some air.” Stiles flees and Scott thankfully lets him go. He's down the stairs and out the front door before he knows it. Gulping in deep breaths he looks up at night sky, leaning against the porch railing. 

He wants to be mad at Scott, he hates it when the issues he'd been firmly (and happily) avoiding are shoved in his face, but Scott wasn't that far off the mark with his accusations. Sure, he's not a glutton for punishment or whatever Scott was thinking, he hadn't used Derek like that, but maybe he had used him? As an escape? An escape from everything, from his guilt, from his grief and pain, and all the shitty ways he's been dealing with it.

He's not the first person to use sex to drown out their demons, and he doubts Derek would really care. Hell, Derek had all but admitted to doing the same, but it makes him feel uncomfortable nonetheless. Especially considering Derek's reluctance had been obvious from the start, and he'd been the one to coax Derek into continuing it. Stiles feels dirty and gross and wonders if he's always been this selfish.

Stiles had even been hiding everything from Scott, like he'd said. He'd hadn't wanted Scott to see the worst parts of him. Because he'd never be able to deal with Scott being disappointed, or worse, disgusted by him.

Stiles sits down on the porch steps and thinks out of all of that, the thing he doesn't want to think about the most is that he'd lied. He'd lied to Scott when he'd said this thing with Derek didn't mean anything. At least on his part. That somehow along the way he'd grown _feelings_ for that stupid grumpy werewolf, and he believes there actually might be a good person buried under all that pain and trauma. That the thought of never kissing or touching Derek again makes his chest go tight and cold. And the kicker is he'd ignored these feelings because he knew they'd only end in heartache. Derek would never return his feelings, and if by some miracle he did, the thought of them trying for a relationship is laughable. There's no good ending here.

Stiles is so deep in his head that he’s taken completely off guard when a hand slams over his mouth from behind. His scream of surprise is muffled, and terror-lined panic roars through him when he feels a sharp, painful sting in his upper arm. Stiles realizes it was a needle shoved into him, and he flails, trying to claw at the hand over his mouth, but the person wraps an arm around him. They pull Stiles back tightly against their body, holding him in place likes his struggles are nothing more than that of a wayward child.

Stiles doesn't stop struggling until whatever they gave him starts to take effect, his mind going blurry, and his limbs start refusing to work. He feels the world tilt on its axle and everything goes dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles wakes slowly, thoughts fuzzy and disjointed. He's on his side, lying on what appears to be a mound of straw. Glancing around he quickly figures out he's in some type of barn stall. Stiles sits up and just that little movement makes him dizzy. He feels lethargic and stupid, whatever sedatives they gave him sure packed a punch. Before Stiles can get his thoughts in order, a guy wanders in and says, “I was wondering when you'd wake up. How's the head?”

Stiles squints one eye open at him and takes him in. He seems to be around his mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair and some slight scuff going on. He's ruggedly handsome with a solid build, and Stiles eyes him warily, saying nothing. The guy seems undeterred, reaching down he grabs Stiles' arm, and drags him to his feet, yanking him roughly back up when Stiles stumbles. “Still a little woozy, huh?”

“What did you give me?” Stiles is overly proud when his voice comes out calm and even.

“Nothin' that will hurt ya, at least it shouldn't,” the guy says, looking down at him with a wide grin. Stiles notes dimly that he's very tall. He hauls Stiles to the middle of the old barn and shoves him into a chair. “Sit tight for me. Don't do anything stupid and make me waste a bullet on you, ‘kay?”

“I'm sure that's not necessary, Rick.” It's Kate's voice, which causes Stiles to jerk his head to the right in time to see her stepping off the ladder from the hayloft. “Stiles is old-hat at this by now. He'll be a good boy. Won't you, Stiles?” She says is sweetly but everything in Stiles tenses.

Stiles cuts to the chase. “Why am I here?”

“All in good time, sweetie,” Kate pats him on the head as she passes him and Stiles has to fight not to recoil. She nods her head towards the hayloft. “Go take watch.”

Rick sighs. “If I must.” At Kate's arched eyebrow he makes a stink face. “The hay makes me itch.” He clambers his way up and out of Stiles' sight.

“So I'm bait then?”

“You're many things, Stiles,” Kate tells him airily. “Don't sell yourself short.”

“So bait then.” Stiles keeps track of her as she walks idly around him. “Let me take a wild guess, Scott?”

Kate smiles as she stops in front of him. “Not many guesses left I suppose. You seem to be lacking in friends at the moment. I haven't seen Lydia around lately.” Kate watches him like a hawk, eyes missing nothing. “Did she leave or did you get her killed too?”

The jab hits and it takes effort for Stiles not to show it. It also confirms what he'd already known. “My dad,” he grits out, low and shaky. “His crash was revenge for Allison.”

Kate loses her mocking smile for once and says viciously, “You kill my family, I kill yours.” Her eyes briefly flash green before she shakes it away, lips curling up in distaste. “Plus he's becoming a nuisance, looking into things he shouldn't. I like my sheriff's dumb and compliant.”

“That's never going to happen,” Stiles spits and it takes everything in him not get up and throw himself at her. It's the look in her eye that stops him. At her obvious enjoyment at goading him, and Stiles finally realizes why he's not tied up. She _wants_ him to give her a reason to hurt him. “Who’d you hire to kill him?” When she doesn’t answer he glares, and carefully presses his ankle against the leg of his chair, hoping against hope they hadn't checked him over for weapons.

Kate catches the movement and laughs, a full-throated sound. “If you're looking for that little pig sticker strapped to your leg, don't worry, it's still there. I was going to take it but Rick up there said it'd be like taking candy from a baby.” Kate pulls out a wicked looking knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh. “You should know your enemies by now.” She twirls the knife in her hand, taking slow steps towards him. “Surprise can only get you so far. Try and use that dagger on me and I'll _laugh_.”

“Not if I stab you in the neck.”

“You're adorable,” Kate's close enough to tap the side of the knife against his cheek. “It's almost a shame what I'm about to do to you.”

“And what's that?” Stiles asks, but breathes out a sigh of relief as she sheaths the knife once again.

“I could always sedate you again,” Kate muses and reaches down to grab his chin. “But I need those pained, soulful eyes of yours to work their magic on Scott.”

Stiles' retort dies in his throat when Kate suddenly jerks him close, sniffing around his collar bone and into the side of his neck. “Oh. Oh my,” Kate says as she pulls back and her grin is sinful. “I didn't think he had it in him, I'm shocked. And _delighted._ ”

Kate looks like Christmas has come early and Stiles pulls as far away from her as he can. Nothing that makes Kate look like that can be good. “What?”

“You smell like Derek.” Kate eyes him speculatively. “I'd never have believed it but I'd know that smell anywhere.” She closed her eyes and a creepy reverence crosses her face. “I can't blame you. Those abs really are to die for.” She opens them on a sigh. “Always have been. I kinda miss 'em.”

“You,” Stiles says in disbelief, “And him...?”

“You didn't know?” Kate seems genuinely surprised. “I thought everyone knew by now. How else do you think I burned up the most powerful pack in Beacon Hills? I had an inside man.”

Stiles feels his stomach physically roll. “Oh God,” Stiles breathes out, everything falling into place inside his head like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place. Derek being around his age when his family had died, his reluctance and guilt at being with Stiles. His other _knowing_ remarks at Stiles' own guilt and thirst for revenge. “Jesus, you're sick.” Stiles is so nauseated he can taste bile in his throat. “You're _unhinged_.”

Kate slides around the back of his chair and says into his ear. “Honey, we haven't even started.”

Stiles pushes the worst of his turmoil away, enough to ask, “What do you want from Scott?”

Kate doesn't answer as she walks back in front of him. He pushes, because questions and stalling tactics are all he has left. “Why'd you kill your father. Or Peter?”

Kate's shoulders tense at the mention of her father. “I didn't kill my father, my brother and his uselessness can take credit for that. I just gave him back some of his dignity.”

“And Peter?”

Kate scoffs. “That was doing the world a favor.” She glances at the door before focusing back on him. “Really, that was a present for all of you. I was going to gift wrap his head but figured that was a little too gaudy even for my taste.”

“Right,” Stiles deadpans, “A staked head is a lot less gaudy.”

“It's a fine line,” she agrees.

Stiles perches on the end of chair, leaning down on his elbows. “You planning on killing Scott for some type of twisted revenge, or just for his alpha powers?”

“I couldn't want both?” Kate turns away from him, movements becoming more distracted. “But I don't want to kill Scott.”

“You don't?”

“Oh for the love of—” Kate swings back to him. “If it was as easy as killing him, don't you think Peter would have tried that?” She finally stands still and says, “Killing a true alpha won't give you it’s powers, you can't steal them. It's innate.” Kate's eyes flicker with barely concealed excitement. “No, they have to _give_ them to you.”

“That's why you need me,” Stiles says dutifully.

“And that's where you come in,” Kate reiterates. “Breaking someone is as easy as breaking someone they love.” She pushes close again and says almost lovingly, “And you will break so beautifully for me.”

“Batshit.” Stiles notes flatly and mostly to himself. “Completely and utterly batshit.”

“And I'm tired of waiting. Rick!” Kate calls up to the loft. “It's go time.” She turns back to Stiles with her usual mocking smile. “You better hope he gets here soon.”

Rick hops down from the loft. “'Bout time. I was about to break out in hives.”

The barn doors open, interrupting them, and a new guy walks in. He has a buzz cut and is carrying a rifle on his shoulder. “All quiet, boss.”

Kate sighs and moves up to him, and they exchange a few words Stiles can't hear. “That's Mike, he's a douche,” Rick tells him in a whisper. Though why Stiles doesn't know, because Mike obviously hears him and throws them a foul look.

But watching Kate and Mike talk furtively together makes it dawn on Stiles what they all are. He looks up at Rick. “You're hunters. You're all hunters that have been turned.”

Rick gives him an amused look. “Birds of a feather and all that shit.” He watches Kate with an inscrutable look on his face. “Or, uh, staying together because both sides want you dead now. Same thing.”

Kate dismisses Mike, watching him leave before turning to Rick. “Chain him up. I don't care what you do, just make it look pretty.”

Rick gives her a solute, and starts to manhandle Stiles who attempts to fight him off. He yells back to Kate. “Can't bring yourself to do the dirty work yourself?”

“Baby, Rick's just the warm up.” Kate lifts up her hand and her nails grow into claws. She waves at him with them. “I tend to get a little carried away, and really, I need you alive.”

Rick hauls him over to a partitioned off section by the stall he'd first awoken in, and hadn’t seen before now. And he immediately wishes he still hadn't. There were tables filled with torture implements and a large wood post sunk into the middle of the dirt floor. There's a metal chain wrapped around it, huge curved fence staples holding it into place, and metal cuffs hanging from both ends of the chain.

Stiles balks but is easily overpowered, Rick promptly forces him onto his knees and snaps the metal shackles onto his wrists with an air of finality. Stiles is facing the post, his back to Rick, and feels fear rising like a tidal wave. He glances over his shoulder, and says, “You don't have to do this, Kate's never going to give you _anything_.”

“First time, I take it? You get to pick then.” He hears movement behind him and the clinking of metal. “We have floggers, prods, crops, knives, whips, pliers, hammer and nails. Or claws. Which are mine and not my personal favorite. Blood and goo gets stuck under them.”

“I'll take none of the above for four hundred, Alex,” Stiles says, voice only wavering a little.

There's a snort behind him and then a scuff of noise. “Crop it is then.”

Rick's constant pleasant enthusiasm is wigging him out more anything. He jumps in fear as his shirt is suddenly torn off of him.

“It's worse if you move, trust me.” Is all the warning Stiles gets as a blow lands onto his back. He tenses at the harsh pain and has to fight not to move away. The blows come fast one after another, seeming to build in intensity, and eventually Stiles can't hold back his cries of pain. He falls forward, head resting on the post in front of him. It ends just as suddenly, and Stiles lets out stuttering, hiccuping breaths. There's a light touch on his back causing him to flinch in pain and revulsion. “You did good, kid. But I think Kate wants a little more than welts and bruises.”

The fact that he sounds almost apologetic doesn't make Stiles feel any better. Actually, it makes him feel worse. He doesn't know what's going to happen until he's hit again, and this time it rips a scream out of him. He moves, automatically trying to get away, but there's nowhere to go, chains pulling tight. Rick doesn't stop lashing his back with a whip or thin flogger, Stiles doesn't know, but it _hurts_ , a sharp, stinging pain that radiates fire everywhere it lands. Some hits break his skin, biting into his flesh, and Stiles feels blood dripping down his back.

Stiles checks out somewhere in the middle, only coming around again when it stops. He's holding tightly onto the post in front of him, head down and can barely hear his own harsh breathing.

“Pretty, pretty,” Stiles dimly hears Kate say, “Use the electrical pod on him next.”

Then there's a commotion Stiles can scarcely make out. He hears the barn doors open, a new voice yelling something and the sound of more people moving around.

“Derek! You are not the werewolf I wanted,” Kate's voice rings out into the silence. “But I'm entirely not surprised. You love popping up in places you're not wanted.”

Derek's name makes Stiles' eyes snap open and he doesn't even remember closing them. He realizes he's shaking like a leaf, and it takes more effort than it should to move his head to the sound of voices. He's shocked when he can see the entrance, the doors only partially blocked from his view by bales of straw and a wheel barrow. Derek's standing by the door, Rick and Mike have their handguns trained on him, and Kate's standing in front of them all.

Stiles must make a noise because Derek's head darts in his direction. Stiles sees a flare of rage in his eyes before it's quickly snuffed out. Derek's face is a blank mask as he demands, “Uncuff him.”

Kate's shoots a look at Stiles too, before saying, “Bring me Scott and I will.”

“Uncuff him and I'll help you get whatever you want out of Scott.”

Kate laughs but gives Derek an assessing look. “Don't tell me you actually _care_ about him?” Derek doesn't dignify that with a reply and Kate shrugs her shoulders. She walks towards Stiles and efficiently frees his wrists, before grabbing him roughly by the bicep and dragging him towards Derek. The rough, sudden movements jar his back and he yells in pain, scrambling to follow her. She throws him down at her feet when they get close enough. Stiles catches himself with his hands before he eats dirt and has to bit his tongue not to cry out. “Now call Scott and tell him to get here before I start cutting off parts of his best friend.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles is breathing deeply, trying to keep the nausea at bay, but he looks up when Derek says his name. Derek obviously waits until he has his attention before jerking his head to his right. “That's the guy who tried to kill your father.”

Stiles follows the motion and sees Rick scowling over the gun he's still pointing at Derek. “You hit my dad?”

Rick grimaces and Stiles thinks absurdly it might be guilt, until he opens his mouth. “Yeah, my bad. I thought at that angle and speed it'd totally kill him.” He risks a quick glance at Kate. “I'll go with the mugging idea next time, I promise.”

“You should have done it my way. You're lucky you're pretty.” Kate tosses her head. “But back to the _subject_ at hand.”

Stiles tunes out, feeling gobsmacked at the casual and callous way they're discussing killing his dad. It makes some of his pained stupor subside and anger shoot through him. Stiles focuses back on Derek, sees pain and anger clouding his eyes, and Stiles rises to his knees.

Stiles is watching Derek's face so closely that he sees what he's about to do the moment before Derek whips around, knocking the gun out of Rick's hand. Stiles is dimly aware of Derek punching Mike the buzz cut in the face, but he's already moving almost without thought, knowing he won't get a better chance. He leans back and slides the dagger from his ankle and jerks around to shove it into Kate's stomach. Everything in him screams in pain but his adrenaline overrides it, and it works, whether from Kate's honest surprise or because she doesn't care enough to view Stiles as a threat.

Stiles leaves the knife in her and backs away just out of her reach, getting to his feet. Kate's grunt of pain trails into laughter. “I told you. Why does nobody listen to me?” She tries to pull the dagger out but hisses as soon as her hand touches the hilt. She raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “Silver encrusted? Niiice.” Kate rips the knife out and quickly drops it. “But not nice enough.”

Kate advances on him but stops suddenly and shoves her shirt out of the way. The dagger wound isn't healing and has black spider veins spreading out from it. Stiles uses her distraction to fumble up the knife again, momentum helping him tackle Kate to the ground. He stabs her again as she curses at him and turns, claws raking down his arm.

“Stiles! Heart. Stab her in the heart!” He hears Derek yell and Stiles wants to yell back _what’s it look like I’m doing? Ordering a pizza?_ He's a little busy though with Kate fighting him tooth and claw. His only saving grace is that she can't seem to control her shift, going back and forth every other minute.

Stiles uses every ounce of knowledge he learned in AP biology and drives the dagger in at an angle under her breast bone. Kate keeps thrashing under him for a minute before starting to choke, black goo gurgling out of her. Stiles watches her for several minutes as she gags and withers beneath him. Kate finally stills, hands falling loosely off him, and he isn't sure if he should move until he sees her eyes open and staring at nothing at all. Stiles keeps looking until he can't anymore, stumbling painfully to his feet. He almost trips over something and leans down to pick up Rick's gun he'd lost.

Stiles looks around and sees Derek still fighting with Mike, both turned and snarling at each other. Rick's on the ground not far from him with a long bloody gash on his head, obviously dazed. Stiles is walking and pointing the gun at him before he can think about it.

Rick's grasping to sit up, leaning against the side of the barn. He freezes when he sees Stiles but then smiles. There's blood on his teeth. “You're not going to shoot me, kid—”

Stiles fires the gun, once, twice and then empties the clip into his chest. Stiles doesn't check to see if he's killed him, he just turns towards where Derek had been. The shots must have broken up their fight because Derek's alone, bloody and clawed up but nothing he can't heal from.

Stiles feels the gun slip from his fingers, himself not far behind it, falling to his knees with a thump. Derek's there in the next second, fingers brushing through his hair. “Stiles.”

“I'm alright,” Stiles tells him and knows it isn't true when he can't feel the words leave his lips. He might be going into shock, he's not sure.

Derek gently tilts his chin up. “Hey, hey, focus on me.” He crouches down in front of him. “What was on that knife?”

Stiles strums up enough brain power to explain. “Deaton help me make it. It's coated.”

“That's impressive.” Derek keeps touching him and it's nice. “How did you make it?”

Stiles is aware enough that he knows Derek's asking just to distract him. He answers anyway. “We dipped the blade in an adhesive and then in a mixture of ground up wolfsbane and mountain ash. The tricky part was finding the right adhesive. I didn't even know if it would work.”

“I'd say it does,” Derek tells him, eyes not on him.

Stiles’ pain is suddenly gone and he gasps, the relief so intense. He looks up to see black lines shooting up Derek's hand that’s resting on his face. “Derek, I,—“

There's a noisy commotion by the barn doors, Stiles makes out Scott's and Kira's voices.

It jolts him all the way back to himself with panic. He turns to Derek. “I— my back, I don't want them to see.”

Stiles feels Derek's eyes roam over his back and when they turned back to him there's a sorrow in them that Stiles can't bear. Derek shrugs out of his leather jacket and very gently drapes it over his shoulders. Stiles sucks in a breath but otherwise doesn't react.

Derek's ripping stripes out of his sleeves to wrap around the worst of the bleeding claw marks Kate had left behind on his arm when Scott barrels in. Kira, Malia and — to Stiles' extreme surprise — Chris Argent, follow behind him. Scott takes everything in in seconds. “Stiles!”

Scott stops in front of him, and going by the lines of worry on his face, Stiles was right to cover up his back. “I'm alright.”

Scott obviously doesn't believe him for a second, and Stiles has to admit he probably doesn't look very convincing. “What happened?”

Stiles wants to ask Scott the same thing, there's cuts and scrapes on all of them. Scott seems to have a slow healing bullet wound on his shoulder, meanwhile Kira is favoring her right ankle. Argent seems to be the least hurt, but still looks very rumpled. Kira is the one to answer his question quite sufficiently. “There were a bunch of werewolves around the barn... with guns!”

Stiles sees Scott shoot her a fond look before focusing his attention back on Stiles. “Your arm looks bad, I think you're going to need stitches. Come on.”

Scott tries to step towards Stiles and help him up but Derek doesn't move, shielding Stiles from Scott. Scott goes rigid, eyes locking fiercely onto Derek's, and Stiles is suddenly afraid they're going to fight over him right in the middle of this old barn when Derek backs down.

“Be very careful of his back,” Derek tells Scott so quietly Stiles almost doesn't hear it, before moving away.

Scott's anger is quickly replaced with confusion, eyes following Derek's back. Argent interrupts the moment. “Who killed her?”

Stiles turns his head enough to see Argent on one knee by his sister, looking down at her face. “I did.”

All eyes are on him and Stiles doesn't know what to do with it, avoiding all eye contact.

Malia breaks the silence this time. “And who killed him?” She kicks Rick's foot for emphasis.

Stiles keeps his eyes to the ground. “That would also be me.”

The silence afterwards is almost deafening to Stiles, and he feels his endorphin starting to leave him, all but knocking him over in pain. Scott catches him. “Come on. We'll call my mom and your dad, have them meet us at the hospital.”

Stiles chokes on nothing but air. “God, my dad. He's probably having kittens. How long was I gone?”

“He's fine. I think my mom drugged his tea.” Scott helps him up, ending up almost carrying all of Stiles' weight.

Stiles can't hide his groan of pain as walks. “Christ. I love your mom.”

Stiles doesn't think he's going to make it when someone else grabs his other arm. Malia gives him a soft smile and Stiles can't really sum one up. But he does say softly, “Hey.”

Stiles hears Derek taking to Argent and wishes he had the strength to look back.

\---

They give him some good drugs at the hospital and Stiles is so grateful he could have cried. His dad doesn't want him to leave his sight, to which Stiles wouldn't normally object, but he really doesn't want his father to see his back. At least not till it's mostly healed and his emotions are less raw. Stiles has to compromise with him, telling his dad Scott would stay with him while he was checked over. The Sheriff doesn't like it but grudgingly concedes, going to wait just outside the door.

Stiles flat out refuses to have anyone but Scott’s mom work on him, and she quickly stitches up the worst of the gashes on his arm. Once she takes off Derek's jacket from his back he hears her quick intake of breath. Stiles can't see Scott's reaction but after a minute Scott slides past them to the bathroom, and the sound of something breaking comes through loud and clear.

“That bad, huh?” Stiles jokes falls horribly flat but he hadn't known what else to say.

Melissa's voice is watery. “Stiles,” she sniffles and then clears her throat. “Some of these might scar.” Scott comes back, not leaving his side while Melissa cleans and bandages what she can of his back. She leaves them alone to talk to his father and to get a doctor to prescribe him some antibiotics.

Stiles feels Scott’s gaze and looks over at him. Scott looks desolate. “What happened?”

Stiles would rather talk about anything else but Scott deserves the truth from him. For once. So Stiles tells him, voice as soft and calm as he can make it.

Scott’s breathing harshly by the time he’s done, eyes a bright red. “If you hadn’t killed him I would have.”

Stiles sees the look in his eyes and believes him. Thinks maybe he’s put Scott on a pedestal, made him out to be some kind of saint, untouchable to someone like Stiles. He has a feeling he’s been wrong about a lot of things lately. “I’m glad I did.”

Scott makes an effort to calm down, grabbing Stiles’ hand and intertwining their fingers. “I would have given her my powers. She never needed to have touched you.”

“I know.” Stiles doesn't tell him that would have made things worse, he understands what Scott’s trying to say. Stiles gives him sidelong look. “But I thought we’re not allowed to get emotional when one of us is under the influence.”

Scott gives him a sad smile. “I should have gotten there sooner. I’m sorry.”

“Scott, don't.” Stiles shakes his head. “Just don't. She _wanted_ to hurt me, getting something out of you was just a bonus for her.”

Scott looks away and after a minute says “Then I'm sorry for what I said before,” Scott’s face is lined with pain. “I shouldn't have said any of that. I was wrong and way out of line.”

“No, you weren't,” Stiles moves and tries to get a scrub shirt on that Scott's mom had given to him. “You were right, I have no idea what I'm doing. I lied to you.”

Scott has to help him with the shirt, gently sliding it down his raised arms. It still hurts but he tries not to let it show. Scott gives him a confused look. “About what?”

“Scott, I might— I might have—” Stiles is having a lot of trouble saying it out loud. “It might mean more to me than I let on.”

Scott takes a minute before saying, “You mean Derek.”

“Yeah, that.” Stiles doesn't meet his eyes.

“I know,” Scott tells him and he looks up in surprise. Scott looks mildly embarrassed. “At the hospital. The way you looked at him. I knew.”

“Oh,” Stiles has no idea what Scott could have possibly seen but the whole thing is moot. “But you were right, it's a terrible idea. It’s not going to happen again.”

The door opens before Scott can say anything back, and the moment is lost.

\---

The next few days pass in a quiet, and slightly drugged peacefulness. His father tries very unsubtly to coddle him and Stiles is in just the right amount of pain and the mood to let him. Scott and his mother keep finding excuses to come over and bug him. Melissa seems to think it's her responsibility alone to clean and care for his back, which Stiles finds awkward, but also kinda nice.

Late the second night home he’s about to fall asleep on the couch when he gets a text from Derek, asking to meet him outside. He grabs a jacket on his way out, warily walking onto the porch. He sees Derek not far off into the yard and walks out to him. Stiles notices something’s off right away, Derek looks _worried_. “Hey, what’s going on? Is something wrong?”

Derek shakes his head. “No, no, I just wanted to see you.” He has a hesitant, unsure look on his face. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles doesn’t want to lie but he also doesn’t want to worry Derek unnecessarily. He settles for a slight shrug. “It’s nothing that can’t heal. I’m going to have some badass scars let me tell you.” Stiles gives him a small smile. “Or bear a close resemblance to Frankenweenie. Either or.”

Derek rewards him with a tease of a smile before saying, “I didn’t just mean physically.”

Stiles doesn’t really know that himself, had avoided thinking about it. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.” Derek face falls, a disappointed frown appearing on his face, and Stiles can’t resist the urge to touch him, his hand reaching out to skim along Derek’s chin. “What’s with you?”

Derek actually looks down, not meeting his eyes, and Stiles starts to feel anxious at Derek’s odd behavior. “I wanted to know if I—” Derek pauses and finally looks up at him. “If I should have told you what I did, when you were…”

Derek doesn’t finish but Stiles gets the gist of what he’s trying to say. “Oh,” Stiles waits for him to meet his eyes before asking, “You mean telling me who tried to kill my dad?”

Derek just nods.

Stiles huffs out a laugh, because of all the things that happened, this is one of the few things he’s absolutely sure about. “Derek, you gave me a reason to fight.” Stiles can’t stop himself from taking another step towards him. “If you hadn’t I’d probably be dead right now. You kept your word, and you _saved_ me,” Stiles says sincerely as he can. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“You saved yourself, Stiles,” Derek tells him, voice gruff. “I wish I could have done more.”

“I don’t,” Stiles gives him a hard look. “I don’t regret killing them. Not for a second.”

“Good,” Derek finally looks less unsure, more like himself. “I’ll admit to getting some glee out of burning them to ashes.”

Stiles figured that’s what they did with their bodies but it’s nice to have confirmation. He gives up the ghost of restraint and leans into Derek, just wanting to be close to him. He promises himself that this is the last time, he can have this one last moment. Derek relaxes all at once, hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. They just breathe together, and Stiles feels himself settle, a soft contentness he can’t even begin to describe filling him up. Stiles feels a brush of a kiss across his forehead, and for some absurd reason it makes him want to cry.

The porch light turns on and in a blink of an eye Derek is gone, leaving Stiles to stumble before regaining his footing. His dad walks out onto the porch and Stiles sighs before climbing the steps to meet him. “Stiles? What are you doing out here?”

Stiles looks at his father’s face, and can’t get a read on what his father saw. “It was just Derek. He wanted to talk.”

“You couldn’t have invited him in?” His dad sounds exasperated, and that tells him either the Sheriff didn’t see anything or he’s keeping it well to himself.

Stiles walks in the house. “No, he’s half-vampire. We invite him in and we’re never getting rid of him.”

There’s silence behind him and Stiles turns to look at his father. He has a look on his face like he can’t tell if Stiles is joking or not and Stiles’ busts out laughing.

The Sheriff scowls at him. “Never joke about vampires in this town. It’s rude.”

Stiles sits on the couch, still laughing. His father watches him, an amused tilt to his mouth and a soft look in his eye. After a moment his dad asks, “You ever going to tell me what happened?”

The rest of Stiles’ mirth dies, and his face twists in confusion. “I thought Scott told you?”

“Scott gave me the abridged version before we left the hospital.” The Sheriff sits on the end of the coffee table. “I want to hear it from you.”

Stiles swallows hard, knowing this conversation was going to happen, but also knowing he was never going to be ready for it. “Did Scott tell you your car crash wasn’t an accident?”

His dad sighs. “I thought something was off. Parrish can’t lie to save his life.”

“That’s what I said!” His father gives him an amused look and Stiles clears his throat. “Kate tried to have you killed to hurt me. For the part I played in Allison’s death.”

“Stiles—”

“I killed her. And the guy who hurt you. And I’m not sorry for doing it.” Stiles says in a rush, not wanting his dad to interrupt. “But I am sorry for you getting hurt. If I hadn’t—”

His father grabs his hand. “Stiles, you’ve got to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Not everything is your fault. Least of all what happened to me.”

Stiles know his dad is right in a sense, that every single one of them seems to be feeling guilty for things they can’t help. “The world revolves around me. I thought you knew that, Dad.”

His dad gives his hand a small shake. “It does for me.”

Stiles swallows hard. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His dad gives him a small smile. “You not going to have to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles gives him a smile in return. “I’m taking that as a promise.”

\---

Stiles starts feeling more like himself and also tad smothered. He badgers his dad to check in on the station and bring home paperwork to quell some of the boredom.

Hid dad agrees easily enough, but he makes Scott stay with him again. Not long after his dad leaves the doorbell rings and Scott jumps up to get it. Stiles is perplexed at his enthusiasm until he sees who it is. Lydia walks in looking gorgeous and stylish as ever. Stiles hadn't known she's gotten home yet so he’s honestly surprised and happy to see her.

The three of them end up on the couch, Lydia telling them about her time in Italy (Apparently she hadn't just been there on vacation. When she mentioned she was going, Deaton had asked her to collect some magical items and herbs for him). And Stiles can't help but note how well Italy had been for her, she looks almost as if she’s glowing as she shows off her new shoes and raves about all the clothes she'd bought. It gives him a pang sadness and he can't quite figure out why.

Scott lets him gloss over what had happened here, although it's obvious Scott had already talked to her. Scott gets a call while Stiles is giving Lydia an overly detailed account of Peter's death. Scott looks like he wants to take it and Stiles pokes him to do so, leaving him and Lydia alone.

Lydia loses some of her brightness. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” Stiles tells her, because it's not a lie.

She seems to take him at his word, nodding her head. “How’re you and Malia?”

Stiles shakes his head, surprised she'd ask him. “We're... not. I've barely seen her all summer.” He can tell by her face she doesn't exactly believe him. “Seriously, I kinda ignored everyone for a while there.” He adds in a hurry, not wanting to see any type of pity on her face. “Besides, I heard she and Kira are pretty tight. At least that's what Scott said.”

Lydia's face suddenly falls. “It is sad my only real friend was Allison?”

Stiles doesn't know what he's supposed to say. He nudges her knee gently with his own. “I'm your friend.”

It takes her a minute but he gets a genuine smile out of her. “Yeah, you are.”

“That reminds me. Go easy on them when school starts again. Malia is still new to everything and Kira is just... well, nice.” Lydia gives him a look like she's sucking on a lemon and Stiles grins. “I didn't say you had to be nice. Just don't flay them alive on the first day. It'll make Scott cry.”

Lydia clucks her tongue. “I suppose someone has to help them with their God awful fashion sense. No promises though.” She brushes her hair behind her ears and eyes him for a moment. “There's something different about you, but I can't put my finger on it.”

Stiles has a suspicion he knows what she means but deflects her. He says cheerfully, “Torture will do that to you.”

Lydia's face clouds over. “Don't joke about that.”

“Hey, it happened to me. I get to joke about it all I want,” Stiles gives her a reassuring smile though.

“Oh well, fair enough,” she still doesn't look happy about it, but bumps his knee back in solidarity.

Lydia gives him a kiss on the cheek when she leaves and Stile understands his pang from before. Because while it was nice it's not want he wants. Not _who_ he wants. It's a pretty shocking revelation all told, Stiles has been in love (alright, a tad obsessed) with Lydia for years, and feeling nothing at her kissing him shakes him more than he'd thought.

\---

It takes three more days for Stiles to get his dad to stop hovering, and for him to find the courage to go see Derek.

He heads to the loft and finds the door wide open. He tentatively walks in, calling out Derek's name.

Derek leans down from the landing above the stairs. “Up here.”

Stiles climbs the stairs and finds Derek boxing up Peter's belongings. Derek gives him a good once over. “You look better.”

Stiles just nods. All the things he'd planned to say suddenly going out the window in the face of a scruffy looking Derek. He looks soft and relaxed and Stiles is having a hard time looking away. To break the silence he asks, “Find anything good.”

Derek gives him a look. “Nothing you'd want to know about.”

“Oh,” Stiles makes a face. “Ew.” Derek shoots him a half smile and it kinda breaks his self-control. He can't stand the thought of drawing this out with small talk. “Kate told me about you and her.” Stiles can't keep the nervousness out of his voice. “I didn't know.”

“Ah,” Derek turns his face away, tossing a few books in a box. “That was a long time ago.”

“I just,” Stiles pauses and tries to pick the right words. In the end he gives up and says what he means. “You know you're nothing like her, right?”

Derek's face closes off. “Don't.”

Stiles ignores him. “Are you using me to secretly kill my family or friends in a horribly traumatic way?”

Derek gives him filthy look.

“Yes or no,” Stiles demands.

“No,” Derek rolls his eyes. “Happy?”

“Yes. Kate was cuckoo for coco puffs. She was a psychotic killer that got off on hurting people,” Stiles leans closer to Derek, needing him to see his sincerity. “And you could _never_ be like her.”

By the look on his face Derek gets the message loud and clear. “That still doesn't make this right.”

There's no doubt what Derek means by _this,_ and Stiles had known it was coming, but it still hurts. Derek's rejections cuts him up in ways he'll never admit. “I know,” Stiles has to force the next words out before he loses his nerve. “I shouldn't have pushed it. I’m sorry. I just wanted—” Stiles shakes his head and then blows out a breath. “It doesn't matter what I wanted. It was stupid, and we can chalk it up to temporary insanity. Okay?”

“It is incredibly stupid,” Derek agrees. “And I'm positive it's going to blow up in my face.”

Stile shakes his head wildly. “No, we'll just forget it ever—”

“I wasn't finished,” Derek talks over him. “Stiles, I hate to break it to you but you're not irresistible.” Stiles starts to protest but snaps his mouth shut at the quelling look Derek gives him. Derek makes sure he's going to keep quiet before he continues, “If I had wanted fun or meaningless I'd have never even looked at you.” Derek’s gaze never leaves his face as he says softly, “I never would have started this if I didn't care about you.”

That pretty much renders Stiles speechless for once in his life.

“And you have nothing to apologize for. You have no idea,” It's Derek's turn to shake his head. “I can't make any promises. But if you want to see where this goes. I’m in. ”

Stiles lets out a croak.

Derek has an expectant look on his face and when Stiles still doesn’t say anything, he huffs. “Wow, I think you're more emotionally constipated than I am.”

Stiles is immediately offended. “Take that back.”

Derek shakes his head and Stiles swears there's smile playing across his face. “You going to say something?”

Stiles has to take a moment before saying, “You?” Stiles stops but tries again when Derek patiently arches an eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t even sure you—” He can't finished the sentence, knowing exactly how insecure it sounds.

But Derek finishes it for him. “Liked you?”

Stiles shrugs and tries his best for unconcerned. “Uh, huh.”

Derek frowns. “It's not my fault. You grow on people. Like fungus.”

“This is the worst romantic overture ever, I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now,” Stiles can't help a breathless laugh from bubbling out of him though. “Yes, yeah, I want that. I want you.”

“You have me.”

It should be cheesy, except Derek says it like he _means_ it, and Stiles can’t stop the swell of emotion it brings, feels his chest start to burn with it. He takes the last step, jerking Derek into a kiss, and he can feel Derek’s smile against his mouth.

Stiles pulls back and can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face even if he’d wanted to. “This is not how I imagined this conversation going. I was trying to do the right thing, fall on my sword, be all moral and shit. It was awful.”

Derek lets out a small chuckle. “I gathered that.”

Stiles’ smile falters a bit, remembering his father almost seeing them in the yard. “Uh, is it cool that we don’t tell anyone ever? I know you have a big mouth.” He has to hold back a laugh at the look Derek throws him, “But if my dad found out he’d shoot you in the kneecaps. With a shotgun.”

Derek winces, but he can’t hide the immense look of relief that crosses his face. “That’s not helping.”

Stiles’ grins and takes Derek’s hand. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he’d only do it because he knows it wouldn’t kill you.”

“It doesn't. It really doesn’t.”

Stiles sits down on the bed only to scramble back up, remembering who it belonged to. “We have to burn _this_.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him, but gently tugs his hand to follow him down the stairs. Stiles stares at his back and thinks of the one exception. “Derek? Uh, Scott kinda already knows.”

Derek hums. “I figured.”

Stiles didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this non-reaction, and it makes him slightly defensive. “I didn’t tell him.”

“I know.

“Then how did you…” Stiles stops by the foot of Derek’s bed, and remembers Kate smelling Derek on him. It’s not a pleasant memory and he pushes it away. “He smelled you on me. Literally.”

Derek shrugs. “You are his pack.”

Stiles doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. “So?”

Derek laughs and sits on his bed. “So, you have his scent. He’d know if it changed.”

“I have his…” Stiles pushes him hard on the shoulder. “What is with you werewolves and your creepy smelling bullshit. Is this some kind of territorial, possessive crap because I—”

“Stiles, _hey_.” There’s laughter on his face, but he waits till he has Stiles’ attention before saying, “It’s more like he’s your family. That’s why you smell alike.”

Said like that and it’s not so bad, Stiles even softens a moment. Only for a moment though. “I’m still drowning myself in axe. I’m tired of you losers smelling me.”

Derek goes from amused to horrified. “You wouldn't”

“Just you wait.” Stiles says smug, finally finding Derek’s kryptonite. He pushes Derek harder, until he gets the memo to lay back down. Stiles climbs over him.

“I’m not touching you when you still have stitches.” Derek grumbles out him. Stiles is getting them out tomorrow so he doesn’t see the big deal. Still he’s content to plaster himself to Derek’s side.

“Then be my pillow. Injured people need a lot of sleep you know.” He lays his head on Derek’s chest. He thinks of Scott being his family, of Lydia and his dad. Knows that Derek hasn’t always been on their side. Stiles gets the feeling that there’s very little Derek could do that would make Stiles not want to fight for him. He looks up at Derek. “Don’t ever make me choose.”

A furrow creeps down Derek’s brow. “What?”

“My family.”

Derek takes in a deep breath. “I can’t promise you that.” Stiles looks away but can feel the next words vibrate under his cheek. “But I promise I’ll try.”

Stiles snuggles closer and thinks that’s all he wants. 

\---

The next night Stiles is waiting on his dad to bring home some take out when the doorbell rings. He’s more than a little surprised to find Chris Argent on his doorstep. “Is the Sheriff home? Scott said he wanted to talk to me.”

“Uh, no, but he should be back any minute.” Stiles opens the door wider. “You can wait if you want?”

Chris walks in, and in way too short of time the awkward quiet starts suffocating him. “You want anything to drink?”

“Water is fine.” Stiles quickly grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, but has to stop short when Argent follows him to the kitchen. “Here.”

Chris takes the offered water but sets in on the counter. “Before I forget. I think this belongs to you.” He pulls Stiles’ dagger out of his pocket and hands it to Stiles.

Stiles looks at the offered knife like it might bite him, but after a minute takes it. It very obviously had been cleaned. Stiles eyes him as he picks up his water and makes his way back out to the living room.

Stiles’ staring apparently gets too much because Argent looks back at him. “Something on your mind?”

Stiles looks at the knife in his hand. “It’s just. Out of all the people in the world you have the most right to want me dead.” Stiles looks up at him. “But here you are giving me back the knife I used to—” Stiles feels he really needn’t finish.

Chris looks him over for a long time, eyes piercing right through him. Stiles starts fidgeting by the time he laughs. “Stiles, I don’t want to hurt you.” He takes a long drink of water, and then looks back at Stiles. “And I sure as hell don’t want to kill you.”

Stiles sucks in a breath and then shrugs. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wished you’d shot me when you had the chance.”

That wipes the smile off Argent’s face. He’s silent for a second before saying, “Did you know she jammed my gun?”

The words hit Stiles in the gut. “What?”

“Even if I had fired a shot at you it wouldn’t have hit.” Chris rubs a weary hand over his face. “Whatever you’re looking for, forgiveness or acceptance, I can’t help you. I have nothing _left_ to give.” He turns his sharp gaze back on Stiles. “But she already gave it to you. Don’t ruin it.”

Stiles is having trouble breathing but he finally gets it under control enough to say, “You should stay. This town could use your help.”

He gets a tight smile in return. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The Sheriff arrives and Stiles excuses himself, escaping to the porch. He’s barely out there five minutes when Scott pulls into the drive. He walks up the porch steps with a worried look on his face. “You okay?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No,” he smiles at Scott’s deepening frown. “But I might be getting there.”

Scott’s face lightens. “Yeah?”

Stiles nods and sits down on the steps, Scott following to sit beside him. Stiles counts forty-three seconds before Scott blurts out, “You and Derek talk?”

“Yes,” Stiles gives him a suspicious look. “Did you?”

Scott nods.

Stiles groans. “Tell me you didn’t say anything stupid. Lie to me if you have to.”

Scott grins. “I didn’t. I didn’t tell him if he hurts you I’ll break all his fingers. I didn’t say that at all.”

“Scott—”

“But then I hugged him and said I was happy for him.”

Stiles’ angry retort dies in his throat. “You did what?”

Scott shrugs. “He looks happy, you look happy. Why borrow trouble.” He gives Stiles a soft look. “That’s all I really want for you. For you to be happy.”

Stiles looks away. “God, you’re such a sap.” He looks back at a grinning Scott. “Did he punch you when you hugged him?”

Scott laughs and shakes his head. “No, he took it like a man. All stoic and grumpy. I really don’t know what you see in him.”

“It’s his couch. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a man with a good couch.” Scott is looking at him like he can’t tell if that’s a euphemism or not and Stiles busts out laughing. “Never change, Scott, never change.”

\---

Stiles does end up drowning himself in axe body spray, which has the unfortunate side effect of having his dad and Lydia avoid him like the plague. It also makes Scott ambush him randomly with garden hoses, tackling him to the ground to shove Stiles’ face in his armpit. 

Derek eventually pins him in the tiny shower at the loft and washes him thoroughly. _Very_ thoroughly. Totally worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from Gerard Way's "Brother."
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcomed!


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